


Some Kind Of Folliful

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Childhood Trauma, Class Differences, Classism, Edgelord!Dan, High School, Humor, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Pining, Secret Crush, Smoking, painter!phil, some kind of wonderful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan's perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan's best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones.St Anthony's Secondary is a school divided by class. Their town is split down the middle, quite literally, by a railroad that separates the affluent families from the destitute. Dan is on the very outskirts of the poor side. He has one friend, and no desire to make any more, nor to buy into the sickening popularity and wealth contest of his peers. He thought Phil felt the same. And then, out of the blue, Phil develops a worrying obsession with a girl from the other side. She embodies everything Dan hates; he tries to explain this to Phil, to no avail. As his obsession with Amanda grows, as does Dan's loathing for her. Still, it shouldn't bug Dan this much to see his friend pine some braindead bimbo relying on her boyfriend's wallet. So why does it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Been a while, but I am back with a new fic at long last! Hooray! 
> 
> I can't yet say how often I'll be able to update this, as I'm still waiting to hear back about various commitments I've applied for, but let's remain optimistic for now and say at the very most it will be every Tuesday. I'm assuming you're probably here from my tumblr, but in case you're not, check it out! I've got a ton more phanfics, along with some rad, groovy extras to those fics if you click around a bit ;) love you all, and I hope you enjoy this one - I think it's shaping up to be a personal fave!
> 
> danfanciesphil.tumblr.com 
> 
> Ellen xx
> 
> P.S This AU is based off of one of my all time favourite 80's romcom's 'Some Kind of Wonderful'. I urge you to check it out!

“You know Amanda Jones?”

Dan stops scrubbing the counter for a moment, blindsided by the strange question.

“From school?” Dan asks.

Phil nods.

“Hardy Jenns’ insipid arm candy, you mean?”  

Phil rolls his eyes, hitching himself up onto a nearby countertop. “If you like.”

“I just cleaned that,” Dan complains; Phil doesn’t move an inch. “Yeah, I know her. Why d’you ask?”

Phil shrugs, swinging his feet to and fro. “What do you think of her?”

“Uh… I don’t. She’s part of a social structure I’d rather stay far away from.”

“Which is?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You know. All that ridiculous status quo, popularity contest stuff. High school politics.”

“You mean ‘cause she’s one of the Elite?” Phil smirks knowingly.

“I think  _ Elite _ is a strong word,” Dan grumbles, walking over to the sink to rinse out the cloth. “Rich, snobby assholes would be a more appropriate term for them.”

Phil snorts in amusement. Dan turns from the sink to survey him, brow furrowing.

“Why are you asking me about Amanda Jones?”

“I just think she’s interesting,” Phil answers, shrugging. “You know she’s not rich, don’t you?”

Dan sighs, grabbing the disinfectant spray off the side. He starts spraying the fridge door with it, wiping it down with the cloth.

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” Dan says after a moment. “She lives on our side of town, right? Big deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dan huffs another sigh, already sick of this conversation. “Phil, she might have a trailer-trash bloodline, but she runs with the rich and the beautiful. It’s guilt by association.”

“Okay, that’s ridiculous,” Phil says with a snort.

Dan just glares, moving to the sink at Phil's side. Phil aims a kick at him as he passes, but Dan scoots out of his path.

“You can’t just hate her because of who she hangs out with,” Phil persists, so Dan whirls around to whack him with the wet cloth, making him shriek. “Hey!"

“Why can’t I?” He asks. “The way that girl and her big-money, cruel-heart society  _ spit _ on everyone is not ‘interesting’. It’s pathetic.”

“She’s the only one who’s ever made it across the tracks, though,” Phil points out, as though this is some great achievement. “That’s pretty interesting, you’ve gotta admit.”

“She clawed her way to the dark side because she’s skinny and beautiful and leapt into bed with Hardy Jenns as soon as she snagged his attention,” Dan snaps; Phil raises his eyebrows at the tone.

“You sound pretty defensive,” Phil notes. He folds his arms and leans back against the wall, smirking again. “Jealous?”

Traitorously, Dan feels his cheeks grow a little warm. He turns away and snatches up the stock list in order to give him something to focus on.

“Of her? Don’t be stupid,” Dan mutters. “She’s got the charisma of a linoleum tile.”

“She is pretty though, isn’t she?” Phil muses.

Dan spins to face him, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I knew this was about that.”

“About what?”

“About your sex drive.” 

“I didn’t say anything about sex.”

“Oh, right,” Dan says, rolling his eyes again. “Wanna start a book club with her?”

Phil snorts, jumping down from the counter at last. He grins at Dan as he sidles towards him. “Maybe.”

“Phil,” Dan sighs, trying hard to ignore the way his body stiffens as Phil steps closer. “Take my advice and let this go.”

“Dan, I’m just interested in her,” Phil says, one of his hands finding the end of Dan’s apron tie – ever the flirt. “I’m allowed to think she’s interesting.”  

Dan shakes his head. “Don’t go roaming where you don’t belong.”

“You sound like an old wizard or something,” Phil says around a smile.

He’s standing so close now. He has a specific, sweet aroma that Dan’s pretty sure he produces without the aid of deodorant or perfume. It’s a tangy, syrupy scent, like caramelising sugar as it’s poured over a red, crisp apple. Dan has never known anybody smell so naturally delicious aside from Phil.

“If I was, I’d cast a banishing spell so that you’d stop pestering me at work.” Dan yanks his apron tie out of Phil’s hand, moving swiftly away.

It’s useless to stress the point though, he knows. It doesn’t matter how often Dan tells Phil he can’t keep showing up at the café while he’s working, wheedling free coffees, straining the Wi-Fi, and worst of all wandering through into the kitchen where he is absolutely _not allowed_ – he’s never going to listen. Phil’s just not the type of guy who pays attention to rules like that.  It’s not that Phil is a hardened criminal, he’s just a bit odd that way. He’s a dreamer, so things like hygiene regulations and fire safety probably don’t filter very far through the hazy, rose-tinted cloud of his brain.

It helps that he’s so confident, too. Whereas Dan has a tendency to turn his emotions inwards, Phil has a bright, exuberant personality, and no qualms about expressing himself to anyone at any time. He’ll chat with anybody: from the homeless man on the street corner, to the peculiar woman who walks her five corgis through the park every afternoon. Heck, he’ll even stop to converse with the corgis themselves. He’s obscenely likeable, really, and he gets away with a lot because he’s so friendly and chatty that it’s sort of impossible to be annoyed with him. Dan knows this far too well, unfortunately. Though, out of everyone, he’s probably the most successful person to maintain a level of annoyance with Phil Lester.

“You love it,” Phil says, his smirk stretching into a full on grin. “You want me to do it more.”

“I do not, as it happens, love getting fired,” Dan retorts, hoping the warmth in his cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. He distracts himself by walking to the far shelves under the pretence of further stock-checks. “You know how much of a bollocking I got from Jenns last time he saw you in here.”

“Yeah, but he’s not here now,” Phil says. “If he shows up, which he won’t because he never bothers to, then I’ll just hide in the pantry.”

“Louise is gonna be here in a second,” Dan warns, ignoring him. “She won’t be happy either.”

Phil scoffs. “She’s easy to get round.”

“Oh, am I?”

Dan and Phil whip round to face the back door of the kitchen, through which enters Louise, her bouncy blonde curls springing free as she removes her thick scarf.

Phil grins sheepishly at her. “I just mean you’re too lovely to kick me out.”

“Nice try, Lester,” Louise says, one eyebrow raised. “C’mon, hit the road. You can flirt with Dan after his shift is over.”

Phil pouts, but begrudgingly seems to accept that he has to get going. He finds his bag and hitches it up onto one shoulder, sighing.

“Fine. It’s boring here, anyway,” he says at last, and Dan glowers at him.

“Why do you listen to her and not me?” Dan asks.

Phil laughs, walking over to nudge Dan with his shoulder. “She’s just got an air of authority about her. Don’t take it personally.”

“I hate you,” Dan says, scowling as he pushes past Phil towards the door to the customer counter.

“Love you too!” Phil calls, still laughing; Dan rolls his eyes. “Come over later, yeah? I wanna hear more about your contempt for the bourgeoisie.”

“ _ Bye _ , Phil,” Dan calls over his shoulder, stressing the farewell.

He hears the click of the back door as Phil leaves, and tries to ignore the pang in his chest, knowing that now he has four hours of his shift left without Phil’s inane chatter to keep him company. He sighs, hating himself for being such a hypocrite.

“Dan!” Louise calls out. “Come wipe Phil’s assprints off the countertops.”

* * *

A week passes, and Phil doesn’t drop the Amanda thing. It’s baffling to Dan, who has never so much as heard Phil name a serious, real-life crush in all the years they’ve been friends. Sure, he jokes that his heart is forever beating for Buffy Summers, but as she’s fictional and a literal superhero, Dan hadn’t really taken it too seriously. Now, out of seemingly nowhere, Phil has become, for lack of a better term, obsessed with a girl who is, in Dan’s eyes, shockingly mediocre.

Sure, she’s absolutely gorgeous. There’s no point in denying that, as you’d have to be blind or dumb not to recognise her dainty, symmetrical features, or the waft of shiny, nutella-brown locks cascading past her cute, studded ears. Her figure is something out of a seedy magazine. She’s petite and skinny, with a waist you could close a fist around and boobs the size of cantaloupe melons. She’s very, very pretty. But that doesn’t make her interesting.  Dan has tried to explain this to Phil countless times since he first brought her up, but he doesn’t appear to even listen. He’ll just laugh or shake his head fondly, as though Dan were the one with the bizarre perspective of the situation.

“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Phil had said to him one such time.

They’d been lying on Phil’s bed, staring up at his ceiling. Something was playing on Phil’s TV in the corner, but neither of them were paying attention.

“Yeah, but you can tell how much it’s gonna cost,” Dan had replied, a tad bitterly perhaps.

Phil had been quiet for a moment after that, and for a second Dan thought he might’ve actually gotten through. But then it was back to Amanda, back to how surprisingly sweet and clever and smart she seemed… from a distance. Because that’s another thing – Phil has never actually spoken to this girl.  The reason for this is not because Phil is shy. He is possibly the least shy person Dan has ever known, in fact. The issue is that Amanda Jones is an esteemed member of the Elite, and Phil is… well, not. According to the hideously boring social structure of St Anthony’s Secondary School, any attempt Phil makes to cross the rickety bridge between his level of popularity and Amanda’s – even for so much as a conversation – would be practically suicidal.

Hardy Jenns, Amanda’s shit-head boyfriend, and coincidentally the son of Dan’s boss, would pound Phil to a mushy pulp if he so much as sniffed a rumour that he might be trying to chat up his girl. There are basically a whole plethora of reasons why Phil should just forget about Amanda altogether, but Dan cannot seem to convince him of this no matter how hard he tries. He drags on the stub of his cigarette as he considers all of this, trying to make it last. He hasn’t got any more after this one. A new pack of smokes would probably bankrupt him, too.  He chucks the burnt out end on the ground and squashes it with the toe of his boot. Before all this came up with Phil, Dan spent maybe one minute of his life concerned with the boring, vapid lives of the Elite. Now, he has to engage in lengthy conversations about them every damn day. Even worse is that, as Phil is pretty much Dan’s only friend at school, there’s no relief from it.

His lack of friends willing to discuss non-Amanda related topics is entirely self-inflicted however. He’s projected an ‘unapproachable’ vibe for as long as he can remember, because it suits him to have his peers see him as a loner. He is a loner, after all. Except for Phil, of course.  According to Phil, other people at school see him as mysterious, and alternative. He’s got some admirers, apparently, though Phil might be teasing him about that. Dan honestly could not care less how anyone at St Anthony's perceives him. As long as nobody actually  _ talks  _ to him, he’s fine with letting them think whatever they want. 

Of course, Phil is a separate matter. Because even Dan can admit that having one person to talk to, or sit with, or just hang around during his down time, is a lot better than having nobody at all. Up until Year Nine, Dan’s school life was totally devoid of friendship. He’d thought, at the time, that he didn’t mind it. And then, like a comet bursting through an endlessly dull night sky, Phil appeared. 

Dan had been sat in Chemistry at the beginning of term, already having chosen himself a seat at the back, in the corner by the window. Nobody picked the seat beside him, obviously, which was far from a surprise. And then Phil pushed into the lab, late - which Dan would later discover is one of his most prominent character traits. The teacher, irritated, asked Phil to find a seat. And that's where Dan's life transcended from utterly mundane, into bafflingly, ridiculously absurd. Because Phil swept that sharp bblue gaze across maybe five empty stools. He smiled at his friends waving manically, he ignored the frantic hands gesturing for him to sit beside them, and fixated on Dan, alone, scowling, in the far left corner. He plonked himself right down in the space next to him, his broad smile never faltering.  Nothing has been the same since.

“Have we ever even met?” Dan had asked him, horrified by the audacity of this strange, perpetually happy person.

“We’re meeting now!” Phil had replied, grinning infectiously. He stuck out his hand for Dan to shake, and for some reason, Dan just did. 

He’d tried in vain, after that first day, to be cold towards Phil. He’d tried to speak to him with only the bare minimum, answering Science-related stuff monosyllabically, or pretending he didn’t know the answer at all.  Phil never bought the act. He laughed at Dan’s attempts to shrug him off. He teased and prodded and joked until Dan couldn’t hide the responding smile any more. He followed Dan about after class, telling him stupid anecdotes about his encounters with the squirrels outside, or prattling on about his latest clumsy incident.

It didn’t seem to matter to Phil that Dan barely ever responded. He was just content to lean against the lockers beside Dan’s while he rummaged inside, rambling about his newest art projects. He seated himself in the cafeteria next to Dan, tilting his phone screen to show him funny memes and videos of dogs. He’s the most persistent person Dan has ever known, to date, and he still has no clue why Phil didn’t just give up.  But eventually, Dan was worn down. He began laughing at Phil’s stupid, unfunny puns. He sent Phil an occasional meme of his own over text. He made suggestions about what Phil should draw next. He started watching  _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _ , and texted Phil his opinions. It must have been an agonising few months of slow, tortoise-like progress for Phil, but they did become friends. By the time Christmas rolled around, Dan had someone in his life that actually cared enough to buy him a present.

Dan, who had never bought a Christmas present for anyone in his life, let alone received one, felt terrible, but Phil just gave him a hug, and told him it was fine. They’d watched stupid Christmas films on Boxing Day, wearing the paper hats from the Christmas Crackers Phil insisted they pull. It must have been around then that he finally accepted Phil as someone he didn’t mind having around. He dreads to think of what might happen if, somehow, Phil actually makes it across the Elite border and begins weaselling his way into the cool crowd.  Those snooty kids are sure as hell not going to accept Dan as a member over there, even if they do, for whatever reason, make an allowance for Phil. Not that Dan has any interest whatsoever in associating himself with half-witted phonies, sipping the Kool-Aid of their conservative lifestyle. 

“Hey,” a voice interrupts his reminiscence, startling him. He glances up at Phil, feeling caught out somehow. “Are you waiting for me? I thought you were working today?”

Dan stands up form the cold, brick wall he’s been sat on for the past half hour, resisting the urge to rub his sore ass.

“Not waiting for you, just smoking. Louise swapped my shift with Zoe,” Dan explains, shifting to discreetly work some life back into his numb buttocks.

“No way!” Phil exclaims, ridiculously excited by the news. His face lights up in a grin, and Dan has to look away or he’ll start smiling back like a lunatic. “Awesome! Surprise Dan-time.”

Phil slings his arm around Dan’s shoulders. He tuts and gives a half-hearted attempt at shrugging him off, but Phil knows him too well to take the bait, so he just squeezes Dan tighter as they begin their walk home.

“What do you wanna do?” Dan asks, heart picking up its pace a little. _Don't say my house, don't say my house_ -

“I need your help, actually. Wanna come over for a bit?” 

Dan’s shoulders sag in relief as they take the turning towards Phil’s street.

“Please tell me this is not Amanda Jones-related.”

“Maybe,” Phil says, aiming a guilty glance at him. “Come on, please? For me?” Phil begs, making Dan roll his eyes. “Besides, if you help me out, then I’ll stop talking your ear off about her.” Phil pauses. “Maybe.”

Dan sighs, contemplating how to respond. He’s said everything he can think of to dissuade Phil from this Amanda thing. He supposes could flat-out refuse to help. He could list all the reasons Amanda Jones is bad news for the zillionth time. He could storm off in a huff. But Dan has been looking forward to surprising Phil with this afternoon off work. He wants to chill out with the one person whom he can truly relax with, no matter what the topic of discussion is. Besides, Phil is far too pig-headed to listen to a word of Dan’s feeble protestations anyway.

“Ugh, fine,” Dan relents, not bothering to hide the reluctance in his tone.

Phil stops in the middle of the street to wrap him in an absurdly tight bear hug.

“You’re the best, Dan.”

“Get the fuck off me, you freak.”

Phil laughs, and squeezes harder.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“My jaw’s starting to ache,” Dan complains.

Phil drags his eyes up from the page they’re glued to. He smirks at Dan in amusement, one eyebrow raised.

“Would’ve thought you’d be used to that.”

Dan glares at him. “Dick.”

Phil giggles, gaze returning to the pad in his hands. Little shit. Dan's experience in... certain areas is an endless source of teasing material for Phil. Dan wishes he had literally any fodder to retaliate with. But that’s the thing – Dan is, to this day, almost entirely in the dark about Phil’s sexual history. Phil's usually pretty open about his personal life, but this is the one subject he keeps a high, electrified fence around. Dan's fingers are raw and tingling from the amount of times he's attempted to scale this fence. There are only two snippets of information in this area that Dan has ever been able to glean from Phil, and they aren’t particularly telling. The first is that Phil obviously has a thing for feisty, fictional blondes wielding daggers. The second is that his first ever kiss was from a girl in a Kermit the Frog hat at his twelfth birthday party. Aside from this, Dan knows pretty much nothing. He suspects that Phil is, in all likelihood, still a virgin. He certainly hasn’t dated anyone whilst he and Dan have been friends. But another baffling part of this conundrum is that if Phil _were_ a virgin, it would almost definitely be by choice.

See, objectively speaking, Phil is attractive. He’s six foot, easily, with an athletic, lean body and long legs. He has jet-black messy hair, which - ignoring the three agonising years he insisted on wearing with a short side fringe - suits him. His dress sense can sometimes be a bit out-there, but he has a personal sense of style, which is far more admirable than being ‘on-trend’ in Dan’s opinion. Girls look at him; Dan has seen it often. Boys look at him, too.

Occasionally, Dan, living up to his 'bad influence' reputation, has been able to convince Phil to sneak out of his house and join him at Ozone, an underground dive bar in town. Dan has had an on-off fling with the bouncer, Ben, for several years, so he overlooks their lack of ID. Dan’s used to people eyeing him up at these places, but the last few times he dragged Phil along, he began to notice how they dragged their predatory gazes over Phil, too. He’s had to witness drunken burnouts trying their luck on him a regularly - a laughable scene each time, as Phil is oblivious to his own pull at best, and steadfastly disinterested at worst. If he wanted to, Phil could easily hook himself someone to head home with for the night. But he never does. If Dan suggests it, he snorts with laughter, as if the idea of so much as kissing one of these desperate suitors is absurd. So, over time, Dan has just had to accept that this is the way Phil saw things. Until now.

Dan grinds his teeth, clicking his jaw as he massages it with one hand.

“Keep still,” Phil mumbles, eyes still glued to the page.

“How long are you gonna need me to stay like this for?” Dan asks, irritable.

“Till I’m done,” Phil replies.

“How long will that ta-”

“Okay, done,” Phil interrupts, smiling broadly. He closes the sketchbook abruptly, tossing it onto his desk like it’s irrelevant now.

“What, I don’t get to see?” Dan asks, spitting out the pencil Phil has had him chew for the past half hour.

Phil shrugs. “It’s just a sketch.”

“I'm a living anatomy doll.” Dan sighs. “Don't even get to see the fruits of my labour.”

“Your labour!” Phil scoffs, picking up the pencil to chuck at him. "All you have to do is sit there and look pretty."

An immediate blush spreads across Dan's neck; he can feel it warming him, making his dark shirt feel tight and scratchy. "My butt fell asleep ten minutes ago," he says, throwing the pencil back.

"Let me extend my sincerest sympathies," Phil says. "You'll love telling people you were my mannequin when I'm famous."

Dan rolls his eyes. "Why don't you get Amanda round here to pout for you. Lord knows she's had the practice." 

Phil grins wolfishly, eyes flashing. “Maybe one day.”

Dan grimaces. “So, what’s this big conundrum you’ve got then? Did she catch you peeping in her window?”

Phil laughs good-humouredly, shaking his head. “She’d never catch me. I’m too stealthy.”

He winks, joking obviously, but Dan still fakes a retch. “Stealthy as a fucking hippopotamus maybe. You’d drop your binoculars into her hedge and fall out of the tree before you saw a glimpse.”

“Shut up,” Phil says, kicking at Dan with his foot; Dan hops off the desk to avoid him, moving to perch on the stool in front of Phil's ancient piano. “Listen, I do actually have a problem.”

“I’m all ears,” Dan says, prodding idly at one of the keys.

“I’ve decided I’m going to ask her to prom,” Phil says brightly.

Dan spins on the stool to stare at him. “You’re _what_?”

“Prom, Dan,” Phil says slowly, enunciating each word. “It’s this big, cliché, American tradition of a dance that schools arrange for students after school ends.” Phil pauses, shrugging. “Well, sixth-form college in this case. But it’s still called prom.”

Dan stares at Phil in disbelief. “You’re planning to ask _Amanda Jones_?”

“Yeah!” Phil answers happily. He laughs at Dan’s expression. “Why is that so surprising? This is what people do when they like someone, right? Ask them out.”

“But, but…” Dan flounders, utterly dumbfounded. “Not if they have a boyfriend!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Phil says dismissively, picking up the pencil Dan had been chewing and twirling it between his fingers. “She’s gonna break up with Hardy soon. She caught him making out with some girl yesterday.”

Dan blinks at Phil. Whilst it’s baffling to him how any girl could possibly have such low regard for herself that she’d willingly snog Hardy Jenns of all people, this is the first he’s heard of Amanda being anything less than utterly enamoured with the pig.

“Not that I degrade myself to listening to idle high school gossip,” Dan says, “but I’m pretty sure that if King Douchebag and his wench broke up it’d be all over the damn school by now. I haven’t heard any rumours of trouble in paradise.”

Phil shrugs. “She’s not stupid. She won’t stay with him if he keeps treating her like shit.”

“Of course she will,” Dan sneers, rolling his eyes at Phil’s naivety. “They always do, Phil. Those girls… they don’t know any better. They can’t date anyone actually decent because their reputations are at stake, so all they know of relationships are these gross, holier-than-thou meatheads with more money than brains that treat them like shit because they think they’re fucking Gods.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Phil tells him. There's a tinge of condescension in his tone that sets Dan's teeth on edge. “Maybe some of the Elite girls are stupid enough to think like that, but-”

Dan scoffs, interrupting him. “But not _her_? Right, so tell me Phil, why is Amanda Jones with Hardy Jenns at all if she’s so ‘woke’ to all this shit?”

“I don’t know!” Phil cries, his voice reaching an unusually high pitch. “I haven’t had the chance to ask her. Maybe she made a mistake! Maybe she’s been regretting it for ages! Maybe she just needs someone to show her that things can be different. That not every guy is a cheating, manipulative asshole.”

Dan surveys Phil quietly, marvelling at how someone so intelligent can be reduced to a puddle of mushy, ignorant goo at the sight of one conventionally attractive face. “And that someone is you, is it?”

“Why not me?” Phil asks, his chin jutting out defensively. “She deserves better. I may not be perfect, but I’m definitely heaps better than Hardy.”

“So that’s your plan,” Dan says, folding his arms as he leans against Phil’s desk. “Snag her seconds after she dumps her dick of a boyfriend, take her to prom, and convince her that she’s better off with you.”

Phil chews his lip, staring at Dan carefully. “What do you think?”

Dan barks a laugh, burying his face into his hands. “What do I _think_? I think it’s ludicrous, Phil.” He emerges from his hands, glancing up at his friend. Phil’s face falls, and it tugs on Dan’s traitorous heart. “But… I guess if anyone could pull off something that fucking mental, it’d be you.”

A slow grin spreads like the sun's rays over Phil’s face. His eyes glimmer with fresh, renewed hope, and he scoots his desk chair forwards, slipping his arms around Dan’s middle.

“Get off me, fuck’s sake,” Dan complains, squirming. “That doesn’t mean it’s actually going to work, Phil. For starters, there’s no evidence that Amanda will even break up with Hardy at all.”  

In fact, Dan would be willing to bet a hundred pounds that Amanda will hop out of the passenger seat of Hardy Jenns’ Porsche tomorrow morning, give him a showy kiss goodbye as she scampers off to her first class, and nothing whatsoever will have changed. He also knows, however, that it’s too late to convince Phil of anything except his own misguided fantasies.

“Hardy’s the least of my worries, trust me,” Phil says with determination, releasing his grip on Dan at last.

“Phil, he’s a fucking jock,” Dan protests, “with jock buddies. He’s probably rich enough that he could hire a hit-man at the click of a button. I think you should be a little bit more concerned about Hardy’s reaction if you start moving in on his girl.”

Phil just bats his hand through the air, apparently unconcerned by this information. “Look, all I need from you is your help getting Amanda to say yes when I ask her,” Phil says. “Hardy’s just a possessive twat. I can deal with him. What I can’t deal with is… like, girl-stuff. You know?”

Dan snorts with laughter, raising an eyebrow at Phil. “Um, _not really_.”

Phil blushes a little, scooting away from Dan again, spinning on his chair. “No, well- I don’t mean- like, obviously you’re not gonna know… _that_. But how different can it be with guys?”

Dan rubs a hand across the back of his neck, not sure how best to answer such a vague question. “Um, it’s… pretty different…”

“I’m sure you still know a heck of a lot more than I do,” Phil says.

Dan swallows, shifting awkwardly. “What kind of stuff, exactly?”

Phil shrugs, playing with the corner of a nearby pillow. “Everything,” he answers. “I’m not really an expert. But I guess for now I need to know, like, how to ask someone out. How to get her to like me.”

Dan’s brow creases. Phil, of all people, should not need help getting people to like him. He’s the most likeable person Dan has ever met. Shopkeepers tell him he brightens their day with his polite chatter. Old ladies coo at him for being sweet and generous when he helps them with their bags, or holds open doors. He can’t walk through the school hallway without people calling his name, or smiling at him, or exchanging some inside joke or other. He’s the kind of bright, sunshine-y personality that nobody, not even Dan Howell, St Anthony’s very own brooding emo-mascot, could dislike. If Phil is really set on persuading Amanda Jones into a date, Dan seriously doubts that he’s going to need any ‘tricks’ to do it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, okay?” Phil complains, standing up only to flop dramatically onto his bed, arms outspread. “I’ve never asked a girl out. I’ve never even tried. Lend me your expertise, Dan. Help.”

“Phil, I hate to crush your dreams here, but I really don’t think your flaming homosexual best friend is the person to ask about this.”

“Well maybe not, but you know more than me!” Phil protests, practically begging. He sits up, propped on his elbows. “I know how to be flirty and tease people and all that,” Phil says, and something inside of Dan pipes up ‘ _I fucking know you do, you shit’_ , “but that’s all just messing around. This is different. I’ve never actually _liked_ someone before, y’know?”

Something sharp and needle-thin stabs Dan in the chest, slightly to his left side. “Maybe I know one or two things,” Dan allows, hand covering his chest where the pain throbs. “But really Phil, I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I don’t exactly go for the hard-to-get types.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asks, sounding frustrated. “I’ve seen how easily you get guys.”

“Way to make me sound like a complete hoe, Phil.” There's a silence; Phil is sending that pleading, doe-eyed look his way. “It’s just different,” Dan protests again, feebly. “Mostly I just let people buy me drinks if they want to, and we take it from there. I don’t ‘chat people up’, or whatever. Going after someone seventy miles out of my league is just not something I’ve ever done.”

“I need all the help I can get, Dan,” Phil tells him sincerely. “Please?”

Dan doesn’t want to do this. He can feel himself recoiling at each thought of what he might have to say or do to help Phil win Amanda Jones’ heart. Not only is there risk of literal death, or grievous bodily harm if Hardy Jenns is feeling generous, but there is little to no chance of anything Phil tries with Amanda actually working. Girls like her don’t settle for minimum wage slackers like he and Phil when they’ve just had literal millionaires on their arm. But how can he say no? Phil Lester, his best friend, possibly the only human in existence that Dan can actually stand, and that can stand him in return, is begging him for help. Who is Dan to dash his hopes so early on in his romantic life? Dan gave up on it all long ago, but Phil’s the kind of guy that would stake his faith in destiny and true love and soulmates and all that bollocks. Dan just cannot bear to rip that away from him. Not yet.

So, reluctantly, Dan sighs. “What’s your plan of action then, Casanova?”

Phil’s squeals of delight resound in Dan’s ears for an hour.

* * *

It’s not often that Dan has to begrudgingly admit that Phil is right, but it’s kind of hard to deny it when the very thing he predicted not twenty-four hours ago happens in front of both of their eyes. Amanda and Hardy’s breakup is, unsurprisingly, a dramatic affair of epic proportions. Dan and Phil are sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria, the one at the back against the wall that can only fit two chairs so that nobody else can sit with them. Not that anyone else would, but that’s beside the point.

Phil is rambling about something to do with Sonic; Dan is half-listening, his mind mostly focused on how and when he will next be able to score a nicotine fix. He gnaws his fingernails, stomach turning at the sight of Phil happily wolfing down one of the gross, soggy looking sandwiches on sale, and then it happens. Both of the cafeteria doors are flung wide as Amanda storms in, her soft curls bouncing as she stalks across the room to the Elite table. A hush falls over the student body, everyone turning to watch whatever’s about to unfold.

_SEEE-LAP!_

The sound of Amanda’s dainty, manicured hand connecting with the steel-cut cheekbones of Hardy Jenns’ face. Several people let out actual gasps; even Dan’s eyebrows lift a little in surprise. He didn’t think she had the balls for it.

“Shit…” Phil breathes, quiet enough that only Dan hears him.

“What the fuck, Amanda?” Hardy screeches, his chair flying backwards as he jumps up from it.

He’s much, much taller than her, is the thing. He looms over her slight frame, menacing and clearly furious. His jaw twitches in an unsettling way as he stares down at her, his fists clenching at his side. To her credit, Amanda stands her ground. She looks him straight in the eye, her tiny pointed chin raised up in defiance.

“What the fuck?” Amanda repeats, seething. “You’re sleeping with some slut behind my back, Hardy!”

Hardy splutters, looking around at his crew of marginally less insufferable idiots. They stare back at him, food halfway to their gawping mouths as they await instruction on how to play this off.

“That’s ridiculous!” Hardy shouts. “You’re acting psychotic!”

Amanda shoves him in the chest, her teeth clenched. “Don’t you lie to me, you piece of crap. I overheard the bitch _bragging_ about it to her friends!”

“Babe,” Hardy says, tone softening.“You’re being paranoid. As if I would ever cheat on my baby girl.”

He reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear; she slaps him away, recoiling like a burned heifer. “Fuck you, I am _not_ being paranoid.” She tosses her hair over one shoulder. “Fuck you for ever convincing me that I was! I knew you weren’t just 'consoling' that blonde bitch that time I walked in on you in the photo lab. How long have you been fucking around like this, Hardy?”

“Amanda,” Hardy says, his voice dropping an octave. There's a strange grit to his voice now, like he's speaking through gritted teeth. “I think you should calm down right now. Perhaps we should go somewhere private to talk.”

Amanda stares at him for a moment, her pink lips parted. She laughs suddenly, a cruel sound, and then drags her gaze up and down his body.

“Eat a dick, Hardy Jenns. We’re through.”

She flounces off before he can respond, her kitten heels clacking over the tiled floor as she makes her way through the tables. Everyone stares at her as she goes, and once she’s out of sight, a hundred heads swivel back to Hardy, who is seething, hands still balled into fists at his side. He sits back down with a clatter, glaring anyone who dares to meet his eye. Everyone turns back to their lunch in silence, a tentative, subdued murmur starting up in the wake of the display.

“Wow, dinner and a show,” Dan mutters.

“She did it,” Phil breathes in awe. “I mean, I knew she would. I told you she would. But it really happened.”

Dan rolls his eyes, thoughts travelling back to that elusive cigarette almost at once. “Your girl’s got more balls than I would’ve guessed, I’ll give her that.”

Phil leans towards him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket. “Do you see what this means?! The game is on, Dan!”

“I guess so, Sherlock,” he says, trying to smile. “So are you gonna accost her after school, or wait a few days?”

“ASAP, I think,” Phil says, glancing nervously towards the Elite table. “Hardy might be a total asshole but he’s smooth as fuck. He could coerce her back into his arms at any moment.”

Dan can’t help his exasperation leaking out. “Don’t you think if she’s as intelligent as you claim then she wouldn’t fall for his shit again?”

“He’s manipulative, Dan!”

“If you say so.” Dan sighs. “So you’re gonna straight out ask her?”

“Yeah,” Phil shrugs. “I mean, what’ve I got to lose? She’ll either say yes or no, but I won’t know until I ask.”

“Well, that logic proves you aren’t completely insane,” Dan begrudgingly admits.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan doesn’t know what to say. He’s mortified from head to toe, probably bright red because he has no idea how to accept compliments and he never has. Phil is being sickeningly sweet for seemingly no reason at all, and honestly the timing couldn’t be worse, because Dan realised only minutes earlier how madly in love with him he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying this so far! Much love <3

True to his word, Phil asks Amanda out that very same day. He begs and pleads with Dan to come with him for ‘moral support’, so Dan is forced to watch the entire shit-show unfold. The only upside is that Dan is able to bum a cigarette off Lee, the annoying Year Ten kid who constantly hangs around him. Lee seems to be under some mistaken impression that Dan is someone to be idolised. Dan doesn’t condone underage smoking, but he’s desperate; watching Phil ask Amanda Jones on a date is going to require some kind of narcotic. Lee offers a full packet to him while they wait on the low wall outside school, watching Phil dither in the parking lot. He’s decided to wait for Amanda by her friend Lilian’s car, because now that she and Hardy are no longer speaking, Amanda will almost definitely be travelling home this way. Dan drags on his cigarette, just about resisting the urge to moan as the nicotine rushes through his veins. 

Phil’s plan is stupid, in Dan’s opinion. Lilian is a stuck up bitch, possibly the worst of all the Elite girls; if she’s there to influence Amanda’s decision, then Phil's slim chance of actually persuading Amanda to go out with him will be drastically reduced. Dan's advice was to find Amanda alone somehow, but as she’s literally the most popular girl in the entire school, Dan understands that this might be a bit difficult. Besides, as Phil keeps reminding him, time is of the essence. Dan's blowing a long, satisfying stream of silvery smoke out through his nostrils when Amanda and Lilian swan past him, chattering away, books clutched to their chests. Lilian sends Dan a dirty look as she passes, waving the smoke out of her face in disgust. Dan just about manages to stop himself giving her the finger, and instead watches in pained silence as the two girls cross the parking lot to Lilian’s peach convertible, their skirts swishing about their skinny thighs. They slow to a stop in front of Phil, eyeing him warily, and Dan holds his breath. Dan can’t hear what Phil’s saying, but he’s talking directly to Amanda, ignoring Lilian completely. The corner of his mouth is tilted up in a cute half-smile, and he shrugs his shoulders in a bashful way. Dan wants to be sick, suddenly. He stubs his cigarette out on the wall.

“Hey, uh, was that one no good or something?” Lee pipes up from beside him, sounding anxious. “I’ve got a whole pack here, did you want another?”

“What?” Dan asks, barely listening to him. “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Oh, ok,” Lee says, sounding disappointed by the answer. “So that’s your mate Phil over there, right? What’s he doing talking to Amanda Jones and Lilian Clarke? Are you gonna disown him or what?”

Lee chuckles loudly, forcedly, as though he wants to make clear that it’s a joke, but again Dan barely hears him.

“He’s got a crush on her.”  Dan’s not sure why he says this, especially as hearing the words aloud are not helping his nausea.

“Really?” Lee asks, snatching up the information greedily. “Which one?”

Amanda's polite titter resounds throughout the parking lot, turning several people's curious heads.  

Dan grimaces, turning away from the spectacle. “Amanda.”

Lee laughs. “Woah, that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He knows Lee is only saying it to suck up to him, but he’ll take the validation where he can get it right now. “Like, what does he see in her, y’know?”

“Fuck knows,” Lee answers obediently, sounding ridiculously pleased to be asked. “She’s just one of the clones.”

Dan turns to Lee. “Right?” He nods in agreement. “She’s so… boring.”

“Totally,” Lee says. “So, is he asking her out then?”

“I guess,” Dan says, frowning. “She broke up with her boyfriend at lunch today.”

“I know,” Lee says too quickly. “I mean, oh. Yeah, I wondered what everyone was babbling about.”

A semi-smile forms on Dan's lips at Lee’s transparency. Just then, the growl of an engine sounds, and Dan turns just in time to see Hardy’s car pull up beside Lilian’s, idling there as he watches the proceedings. Dan’s on his feet in seconds, terrified for Phil’s safety, but to his surprise, Hardy doesn’t even open his door. Phil glances at the Porsche, and then focuses back on Amanda, nodding at whatever she’s saying. Dan perches back on the wall, tense and ready to sprint over at the first sign of trouble. Suddenly, Phil is grinning widely, ridiculously pleased about something. Hardy’s engine revs furiously, and he speeds off, tyres screeching as he glides through the exit, out onto the road. Phil waves to Amanda as she hops in the passenger seat of Lilian’s car, then they too are driving away. Phil stares after the car for a moment, then turns slowly. He jogs back over towards Dan, eyes wide and rounded.

“She said yes,” Phil says mutedly once he’s close enough. Then, the realisation seems to seep in. He fist pumps the air, Breakfast Club style, and Dan rolls his eyes. “She said yes! I can’t believe it!”

Something twists and coils in the pit of Dan’s stomach; a wet, thick snake knotting itself around his organs.

“Congrats,” Dan spits out, not meeting Phil’s eye.

Phil just laughs, wrapping his arms around Dan and shaking him.

“C’mon grumpy, don’t be mad just ‘cause you were wrong.” Phil looks to Lee. “Can you believe Dan tried to talk me out of this, Lee? He thought I’d never be in with a chance!”

“Er, right,” Lee says unsurely.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” Dan says, shrugging Phil’s arms off him and standing up.

“Aw, man,” Phil says, seeming disappointed. “I’ll come see you later on, then we can brainstorm about Prom-plans.” He grins in utter delight, spinning around on the spot.

“No,” Dan warns him uselessly, like always. “We’ve been over this – don’t come to my work, you’re gonna get me fired.”

“Your grumpy attitude is what’ll get you fired,” Phil says, pinching his cheek so that Dan swats at him. “Can you imagine this guy serving you coffee, Lee? I think I’d be too afraid to drink it if I didn’t know what a big old softie he is.”

“Shut up,” Dan growls, rolling his eyes.

“Bye Lee! See you later on, Dan!” Phil calls as he skips off towards the school gate, not a care in the world.

“No! Phil, I mean it, don’t- oh, fuck’s sake.” Dan trails off as he realises Phil is out of earshot. “Lee, I’ve changed my mind, gimme a cigarette.”

Lee scrambles to comply as Dan sticks out his hand, impatient. He’s late already and Louise might be annoyed about it, but he couldn’t exactly say no to Phil begging him to stick around. Dan grabs a cigarette from the pack Lee offers him at once, sticking it between his lips.

He jabs a finger at Lee, irritated.  “You’re too young to start smoking,” he growls. “I’m taking these.”

Dan snatches the whole packet from him, then shoves it into his back pocket. He brings a lighter up to the one in his mouth, inhaling deeply. With a final nod towards Lee, he heads for the school gates.

*

When Phil inevitably shows up to the café, he’s still grinning. He flops down on one of the stools beside the counter, chin in his hand as he watches Dan make a macchiato.

“I cannot believe this is real,” Phil says. “I told her that I thought she seemed like a genuine and lovely person, and that I’d liked her for a while, and she was so sweet about it.”

Dan is really not up for a retelling of the event he saw not three hours ago, but it seems he doesn’t have much of a choice. He begins to froth the milk, not watching the spout, and spills some over his hand.

“Ow, shit!” Dan hisses.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks, sitting up straight, face suddenly full of concern. “Be careful.”

Dan rolls his eyes as he cradles his burnt hand. “Thanks for the advice, Phil.

“Let me see,” Phil says, holding out his hand.

Dan stares at it for a moment, then warily places his own into it. Phil tuts at it, frowning. “Silly billy. Do you have any ice back there?”

“In the freezer,” Dan admits, waving vaguely towards the kitchen.

“Go get some and wrap it in a tea towel. It’ll stop it swelling,” Phil instructs him.

Dan smirks. “Thanks, Nurse.”

Phil flaps his hands at Dan until he does as told. Unfortunately, once Dan’s hand is safely chilled according to instructions, Phil is back on Amanda again.

“I was terrified when Hardy pulled up,” Phil tells him. “You should’ve seen his face when Amanda agreed to Prom. I was so sure I was about to be beaten to a pulp.”

“So was I,” Dan mutters, placing the macchiato on to a tray crammed with several other drinks.    

He walks around the counter and over to Table Ten, a group of older women wearing tennis gear, and begins dishing out the drinks they ordered. Some of them thank him with cautious smiles, and some of them eye him judgily, lips pursed, noses upturned. When he returns to the counter, Phil is gone; immediately Dan is ready to murder him. He pushes through the door to the kitchen at the back, and finds Phil exactly where he knew he would, sat up on one of the metal countertops, nibbling a flapjack.

“Phil! For fuck’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you that you aren’t allowed back here?”

Phil just smirks at him, amused. “At least once more, it would seem.”

Dan rolls his eyes. Then, after a perfunctory glance out into the café floor to make sure there are no new customers, he hops up beside Phil on the counter.

“Give me a bit, then,” Dan says moodily, holding out his hand. Phil breaks off a bit of flapjack, which he then proceeds to feed directly into Dan’s mouth. “Oi! Mmpthhh.”

“Yummy, right?” Phil says, biting off another bit. “Did you make these?”

Dan nods, reluctantly admitting to himself that they’re pretty good. “I have to whip up a big batch of them every Friday.”

“I’m gonna enter you in Bake Off,” Phil says dreamily, swallowing another bite.

Dan shakes his head. “I swear too much for the BBC.”

“True,” Phil agrees, feeding Dan another morsel. This time, Dan just lets him. “So, where should I take Amanda on Prom night? Before we get to the dance, I mean.”

The flapjack starts to curdle in Dan’s stomach. “I dunno. Where d’you wanna take her?”

“Somewhere… unusual,” Phil says contemplatively, leaning back against the wall. “Where would you wanna go, if someone was taking you on a romantic first date?”

Dan snorts, his cheeks warming. “Dates aren’t really… my thing.”

“No?” Phil asks. “Have you never…?”

“The kinds of people interested in me don’t tend to want romance, Phil.”

This time, it’s Phil’s turn to blush. “Oh.”

Dan chuckles at his reaction, hopping down off the counter and brushing crumbs from his apron. “Just take her to a fancy restaurant or something. That’s what she’ll be used to.”

The customer bell pings. Dan sighs, retying his apron as he walks back out to face the public. By the time he’s finished serving, Phil has found his way back to the stool he’d been sat in earlier.

“I don’t wanna take her somewhere she’d expect to be taken,” Phil says. “I wanna show her something different.”

“She’s one of the Elite, Phil,” Dan replies, eyebrow raised. “She’s gonna want an expensive night out somewhere glam. The pricier the better.”

Phil smiles, brushing flapjack crumbs from his lips. “We’ll see.”

*

“That’s nice,” Phil says, softly. “Who wrote that?”

Dan stops playing abruptly, fingers snatching themselves off the keys so fast that it’s almost comical. He balls his hands into fists, embarrassed that Phil’s been paying attention.

“I was just messing around.”

“You mean you just made that up off the top of your head?” Phil asks, peering at Dan over the top of his sketchbook.

Dan shrugs without answering, wanting to change the subject. “What’re you drawing?”

Phil smirks, turning the page around. There are several rough sketches of a girl on the page, all of them action shots. She’s swinging a tennis racket in a tiny, pleated skirt. She’s dancing with a faceless figure, being spun on her heel. She’s running down the school steps, her long curls floating behind her. It’s obvious who Phil is depicting here, even if the sketches lack detail.

“Cute,” Dan says with distaste. “Are you gonna slip little creepy drawings of her into her locker?”

Phil laughs, a soft, tinkling sound. “I was thinking of painting her, actually. Do you think she’d find that creepy?”

“Only one way to find out.” Dan shrugs. “Hey, you’ve been drawing for ages, you can’t have been sketching those little figures this whole time.”

Phil winks enigmatically, closing his sketchbook and tossing it onto his desk. “It’s pretty late,” Phil yawns, glancing at the clock. “Are you going home, or…?”

“Is that a hint that I should hit the road?” Dan asks, heart thudding.

Phil smiles warmly, patting the space next to him on the bed. “No, I was just wondering. Do you wanna stay the night?”

Dan shrugs like it doesn’t mean a lot either way, but he feels the tsunami of relief from his scalp to his toes. “Sure.” Then, because he feels like he should: “Thanks.”

“You can stay here whenever you want, you know,” Phil says for the hundredth time, then lets out a yawn. “Just don’t hog the covers this time.”

It doesn’t matter how many times Phil says it, Dan will never really believe him. He’s very glad that Phil seems to understand he needs an actual invite before he can allow himself to inconvenience the Lester household yet again. In an ideal world, Dan would just wander home after a few hours with his friend, have a nice dinner made for him by loving parents, and be tucked into bed. Instead, the idea of sneaking in the front door of his house and dealing with… everything he’ll find inside is sometimes just too much to bear. Phil’s house is so lovely and homely. His mum is a proper mum, warm and sweet. She makes wholesome dinners for Phil every night and always invites Dan to join them if he’s round without complaint.  Phil’s room isn’t big or particularly luxurious, but he’s got a double bed, and his walls are covered in posters of his favourite bands. He has a falling-apart piano in the corner, which Dan likes to experiment with, and a huge collection of DVD’s, built up through a lifetime of charity shop and boot sale purchases. Phil heaves himself off the bed, heading for his chest of drawers. He pulls out a pair of pyjamas, and turns to Dan.

“Do you want something to sleep in?”

“Okay,” Dan says quietly, because despite having stayed here a zillion times, he still feels like an annoyance. “Thanks.”

Phil throws a big ‘Sunnydale High’ t-shirt at him.

Dan holds it up for inspection, snorting at the design. “Fucking Buffy nerd.”

“Says the guy who practically wept with joy when I got him the Angel box set for Christmas,” Phil counters, and Dan stands up to whip him with the shirt.

“Did not.”

“You’re in love with Angel!” Phil laughs, bringing his Elmo pyjama trousers up to defend himself. “Which is way more embarrassing than being in love with Buffy.”

“Angel is the best character,” Dan says defensively.

“Who chooses Angel over Spike?” Phil says, sounding incredulous. “It’s madness! Spike is so much hotter-”

Just then, Phil’s bedroom door opens, and Phil’s mum stands there, holding two mugs in her hands. “Sorry to interrupt, boys! But as it’s a school night I think it’s bedtime, don’t you? I brought you some hot chocolate to help you doze off. Dan, I assume you’re staying?”

“Yeah, he’s sleeping over,” Phil tells his mum, for which Dan is eternally grateful, because it means he doesn’t have to. Phil takes one of the mugs and hands it to him, then takes the other for himself.

“I-if that’s alright Mrs Lester,” Dan says, his blush deepening. “Thank you for the hot chocolate.”

“Don’t be silly, Dan, love!” She exclaims, laughing. “You’re always welcome, you know that.”

“I keep trying to tell him,” Phil says, slurping hot chocolate.

Dan rolls his eyes, nudging Phil with his foot.

“Well, I’ll let you two get settled then.” Mrs Lester beams, giving them a little wave. “Night, boys.”

As soon as the door is closed, Phil plonks himself down on the bed, sipping at his drink. Despite the interruption, Dan can’t help but rewind to the conversation they’d been having just before Phil’s mum entered the room. Phil described Spike, a male character on a TV show, as 'hot'. While that may be a very accurate statement, it throws Dan a little.  Unless Dan has been very inattentive, he’s pretty certain that Phil has never expressed his attraction to a guy before, fictional vampire or not. He stares at Phil curiously as he sips hot chocolate, wondering if he can bring it up without sounding like a weirdo.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Phil asks. “Waiting for me to strip off?”

Dan flushes without meaning to. “Shut up, rat. I’m going to change in the bathroom.”

He can hear Phil giggling to himself from out in the hall.

*

“What do you like about her?”

Phil rolls over to look at him, and Dan doesn’t have to turn his head in order to know there’s a crease between his best friend’s brows.

“Amanda?”

“Yeah.”

He feels the covers shifting as Phil draws his shoulder up in a shrug. “Lots of things.”

“Her face?”

“Yes, I like her face,” Phil replies, voice tinged with amusement.

“Her body?” Dan asks.

Phil laughs softly. “Yeah, that too.”

Dan swallows around something sharp in his throat. It’s so quiet in Phil’s house. There’s no door slamming or shouting or footsteps pounding up and down the stairs. Usually, Dan leaves his window open so that he can hear the wind and the occasional murmur of a car rumbling by. Phil likes his open too, but in this quiet, suburban street, there’s virtually no sound. Phil shifts beside him, and Dan has to bite his lip. Tonight, laid in Phil’s bed, under his blue and green duvet, feels different to how it usually does. The air is thicker, weightier. Stifling. Phil’s body isn’t touching his, but it might as well be. The heat pours off him, like he’s a crackling bonfire, roasting Dan slowly. As he lies there, taut and unmoving, focused entirely on the body beside him, a slow, creeping realisation begins to spread through Dan’s limbs.

Amanda Jones has never been anything to Dan before now. She’d barely even registered on his radar. Just another boring bimbo in an obnoxious group of high school posers. Yet now, an intense, vicious hatred for the girl is spreading through him, finding every crevice of his body, clogging each pore. He loathes her, from her snub, pointed nose, to the twig legs shoved into clacky stiletto heels. A dawn is beginning to crest over the darkness from the blanket Dan has been holding over his own eyes. It’s only here, in Phil’s bed, with nothing to distract from the sight and smell and feel of him so close, that Dan is beginning to see the obvious. And the sight _burns_. A flush spreads over his chest, across his neck and shoulders as the weight of his own idiocy settles in. He should have seen it sooner. It should have been blaringly obvious. Dan’s been a fool, ignorant and dully predictable.

Falling for his best friend. How cliché.

A hand on Dan’s warm, bare arm makes him jump.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks. “You’re breathing all weird.”

Dan sends a prayer of thanks to the skies above that the deep scarlet of his skin is likely not visible in the dark.

“Yep,” he lies, trying to will Phil to remove his hand with the power of his mind alone.

Self-loathing courses through the synapses in Dan’s brain, and he curses himself for allowing himself to get into this situation. Phil Lester is the one person that tolerates him. He’s the one person that Dan actually likes, and that – absurdly – seems to want to be his friend. This crush could ruin that. Dan’s never been known for his level-head, nor his ability to keep his mouth shut. If he lets this jealous streak continue, and keeps attacking Amanda every time Phil brings her up, Phil could grow tired of it. He could stop hanging around Dan, could abandon him completely. It might be one of the cruellest tricks life has played on him yet. Not only is Dan now going to have to pretend he has no romantic feelings for Phil, he’s going to have to watch him date  _Amanda Jones_  of all people.  There’s no question whatsoever that this revelation must remain a secret. As far as Dan is aware, Phil is likely not interested in men, and even if he were, the two of them are best friends. If Phil knew about Dan’s feelings, it would drive a wedge between them, as Phil would no longer know how to act. The one thing that must be prevented at all costs is losing Phil, even as a friend. The thought is horrific.

Phil sits up then, switching on his bedside light. Dan squints and groans as the light blinds him, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. Phil apologises, turning down the dimmer switch.

“Dan, are you sure you’re alright?” Phil asks again, frowning. He places a hand on Dan’s forehead; it’s such a sweet, gentle touch. “Are you feeling sick?”

Dan shakes his head, pressing his lips together. “I’m fine,” Dan says; reluctantly, Phil sinks back down into the mattress. “I’m just overthinking. You know me.”

“Unfortunately,” Phil quips, so Dan smacks him in the shoulder.

Phil grabs hold of his hand as it lands, and Dan actually has to hold in a squeak. He tries to pull away, but Phil holds tight.  

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” Phil commands.

Dan swallows thickly; Phil starts to trace patterns into his palm.

“I’m worrying you’re making a mistake,” Dan decides to say, though he hates himself for it. “What if Amanda’s only agreeing to this to make Hardy jealous?”

Phil’s finger stops circling. A silence ensues, and Dan wonders if Phil is angry. It would be unusual, as Phil hardly ever gets mad.

“Maybe she is,” Phil says unexpectedly, starting to draw squiggles up and down Dan’s fingers. “But so what?

Dan blinks at him, turning so that he and Phil are staring into one another’s eyes. It’s not helping to quell Dan’s latent realised desires, but that can’t be helped. “What?”

“I can still show her a nice time,” Phil says with a shrug. “I still think she deserves to be treated well, and I still want to be the one to do it. You never know, maybe she’ll change her mind about Hardy once she sees how different it could be with me.”

Dan worries his lip ring between his teeth, and Phil’s eyes train on the action; it makes Dan want to burrow under the covers and hide.

“Phil… Hardy Jenns isn’t the kind of guy you wanna get on the wrong side of,” Dan says for the second time, trying to load his voice with the appropriate amount of urgency. “He’s scary and he has a lot of influence. If you go on a date with Amanda, you’re gonna be top of his hit list.”

“I’m not scared of Hardy Jenns, Dan,” Phil says, rolling his eyes.

“You should be, though,” Dan says. “Have you ever even taken a punch, Phil? ‘Cause he won’t hesitate to deck you if you piss him off.”

Phil smiles, squeezing a fist around Dan’s fingers. “You’re so cute, getting all concerned for my safety.”

Dan flushes, ripping his gaze from Phil’s. “I can’t protect you from him, Phil. I might be able to scare him off if he’s on his own, but he’s got all his fuckboy friends-”

“Dan, shh. You don’t need to protect me.” Fondness radiates out of every one of Phil's pores. Dan feels suffocated by it, imagines it pouring into his lungs, choking his breath from him. “I get that you’re tough and scary and you could probably kick Hardy’s ass, but that’s not why I hang around with you.”

“So, why do you?” Dan can’t help asking, his voice choked.

“Because you’re amazing,” Phil says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re ridiculously intelligent for a start. You read Sartre and Marx for fun. Your favourite films are all Godard and Truffaut.”

“That doesn’t make me amazing,” Dan says scornfully. “That makes me pretentious.”

“Maybe a little,” Phil says, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “But you’re also incredibly talented.” Dan makes a ‘pfft’ sound. “No, seriously. You’re the best pianist I’ve ever heard. I can’t understand how you can create something so beautiful out of nothing. I can’t draw a straight line without inspiration, but you just sit at that rickety old stool and play masterpieces off the top of your head.”

Dan purses his lips, wondering how on earth he can explain that he does have inspiration, obviously, without mentioning that literally all of his pieces are spawned from thinking about Phil.

“You’re sharp and witty,” Phil continues. “You have this spiky exterior to fend everyone off, and you hate almost everyone in school.” Phil pauses, his smile widening. “But not me.”

Dan glances away from him; his palm is so sweaty now, he has no idea how Phil isn’t grossed out from holding his hand. “You wore me down.”

“Maybe,” Phil agrees with a chuckle. “If that’s true, then I’m grateful.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say. He’s mortified from head to toe, probably bright red because he has no idea how to accept compliments and he never has. Phil is being sickeningly sweet for seemingly no reason at all, and honestly the timing couldn’t be worse, because Dan realised only minutes earlier how madly in love with him he is.

“Well, thanks,” Dan says gruffly, rolling onto his back. “You’re really lame sometimes, did you know?”

Phil laughs at him, just like always, never taking Dan’s jibes to heart. Dan’s so glad Phil understands that he never means it when he’s a salty bitch. God, he really, really needs to not fuck up this friendship.

“So, Amanda…” Dan says. He flounders for something to ask about this beaten horse of a topic, and clutches at the first thing he can think of, despite not really wanting to know the answer. “Is she the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?”

Phil sighs, and when Dan glances over at him, his eyes are shut.  “Prettiest girl, yeah,” Phil mutters.

Dan frowns. “What’s that mean? Is there another category?”

“Mm, o‘course,” Phil mumbles after a moment. “Prettiest boy.”

Dan feels his breath catch in his throat.  _Don't ask. You don't want to know the answer._

He's never been good with impulse control.  “Oh,” he says, forcing a small laugh. “And who wins that prize?”

Phil’s eyes flutter open briefly, latching on to Dan’s. “You, Dan. Duh.”

Phil’s eyes are closed again in moments, so he doesn’t get to see the astonishment on Dan’s face. Minutes pass before Dan can remember how to speak, or think of any sort of response, and by the time he opens his mouth, Phil is firmly in the land of dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

“What are you in detention for, Mister Howell?”

Dan drags his eyes from the graffiti-caked desk to meet Mr Richardson’s disapproving stare. “Sir, I honestly can’t remember.”

Mr Richardson does not look pleased. “Hand me your report card.”

Dan makes a show of looking around himself, patting down his jacket and jeans pockets, then comes back with a shrug. “Guess I forgot it.”

The smug grin is probably a little overkill, but Dan really hates Mr Richardson. There’s a little vein on his neck, a blue, pulsing one. If Dan gets him really worked up, he can sometimes make it go purple.

“Right, that’s it,” Mr Richardson says, slamming his clipboard down over the graffiti. “You’d best like it here, Mr Howell, because you’ll be returning every day for the next two weeks.”

“Sir, I have a job to get to after school,” Dan protests, half-heartedly.

His job doesn’t start until five, sometimes later, so actually he could probably still make it after detention and only be five minutes late. Louise would understand. But Mr Richardson’s vein is approaching indigo.

“You should have thought of that before you rudely ignored whichever member of staff sent you here!”

A girl Dan sees in here sometimes leans over from the next desk. Her wiry, dark hair brushes Dan’s shoulder. “He was listening to music in German, Sir. Frau K caught him.”

Mr Richardson’s tight stance relaxes a little. “Thank you, Megan. That wasn’t so difficult, was it Mr Howell?”

Dan smirks. “No, Sir.”

“So, I suppose you think whatever Goth-rock you blast into your eardrums is more important than language education?”

“I’m never gonna go to Germany, Sir,” Dan sighs. The words ‘die fag’ are carved into the surface of his desk. He thinks he might have written it there himself at some point, just to be ironic.

“That is not the point,” Mr Richardson tells him. At this point, Dan tunes out. He nods along as Mr Richardson waffles on about procedure and rules and discipline and the future, and eventually, he moves on to the next poor soul. Megan aims him a secret eye-roll when he’s not looking. Dan doesn’t respond.

*

The sound of Phil’s warbling voice, singing above  _ Supermassive Black Hole,  _ is audible from the other end of the corridor. The school is pretty much deserted at this time, so he probably thinks nobody can hear him from the art studio. As he makes his way towards the racket, Dan can’t help the smile twitching at his mouth.

Just then, another, louder, more boisterous set of voices ring out from around the corner. Dan thinks nothing of it, but then the owners of said voices come into view. He suppresses an eye roll, and then averts his gaze. Of course, it’s no use. Hardy stops in his tracks, gaze zeroing in on Dan, alone. He holds up a hand to indicate that the three morons tracking along behind him should stop also.

“Hey,” Hardy calls out in his irritating posh-boy accent. “Hey, you. Hold it there. I want a word.”

“No,” Dan replies, not stopping. “That’s a word.”

Predictably, Hardy reaches out and grabs his upper arm. Dan jerks away, practically growling, but Hardy’s buddies surround him, preventing an escape.

“Perhaps you should apply that smart attitude of yours to your school work, dunce,” Hardy says, making his meathead buddies titter.

“Dunce,” Dan repeats. “What an archaic turn of phrase you have. Matches your Neanderthal gait.”

Hardy surges forwards, as if to hit him, but one of his friends grabs him, holding him back. Dan swallows discreetly. That was close. Everyone knows Hardy has a short fuse and every teacher in the school in his back pocket. If Dan wants to get out of this situation with two non-blackened eyes, he needs to dial back the smartass stuff.

“Alright, alright, Dean, I’m cool,” Hardy says, pulling free of Meathead No.1. “Listen, emo, I know you’re bestest buds with that guy Lester.”

Hardy waits, as if Dan will acknowledge this. He doesn’t. Hardy grits his teeth. “I need you to get a message to him.”

“Get fucked,” Dan says.

Something animalistic flashes across Hardy’s eyes, and he lunges, shoving Dan back into the lockers behind him. It hurts like a bitch, but Dan just glares. Hardy is up in his face, his friends dithering around him like nervous pigeons.

“I know who you are,” Hardy says through his clenched jaw. “You’re the fag that works for my father.”

“Got a Sherlock Holmes on my hands,” Dan growls.

He doesn’t try to move, despite being pinned to the lockers. If he broke free of Hardy’s grip, he’d have four angry, beefed up morons to deal with, and he just can’t be bothered.

Hardy sneers at him. “You think I don’t know the rumours about you, dipshit? About where you sneak off to after dark?”

With everything he has, Dan fights to keep his face neutral. He doesn’t say a word.

“My Dad has shares in the Ozone club,” Hardy continues, sneer growing into a smug grin. “I’ve heard all the stories about you. How you throw yourself to your knees in the back rooms for every half-talented drummer that plays, every barman that has a spare twenty quid-”

Dan kicks out, hard, catching Hardy in the shin. He roars in pain, clutching at it, and Dan breaks free. Meathead No. 2 catches him by the arm; Dan is just coming to terms with the idea that he’s actually going to have to fight all of these dicks at once, and then a voice interrupts them.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Mr Howell, I thought I sent you home.” 

It’s Mr Richardson. Bizarrely, Dan feels a wash of pure relief at the sight of his bulging vein.

“Apologies, Sir,” Hardy says at once. He’s released his grip on his shin, and now has a shit-eating grin fixed in place of the furious expression he wore moments ago. “Nothing to worry about, we were just making sure  _ Mr Howell _ here wasn’t skipping out on detention.”

Fuck. Nothing good will come of Hardy learning his name.

Mr Richardson nods suspiciously, turning to Dan. “Is that correct, Mr Howell?”

Dan nods silently.

“Fine. But less commotion please. School might be over for the day, but while you’re on the premises, you treat this place with respect.”

“Understood, Sir,” Hardy says. “Won’t happen again.”

Mr Richardson nods, then walks on, slowly, down the corridor.

Hardy waits until he gets a reasonable distance, and then turns back to Dan, jabbing a finger in his face. “You tell Lester that he needs to back the fuck off of my girlfriend, are we clear?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Meathead No.1 corrects.

Hardy turns to him with a glare. “It’s a temporary misunderstanding. She’s a nutcase. She’s not going to throw our relationship away over some- some- _ art freak _ !”

“It looks like she already has,” Dan says, trying not to appear too amused by Hardy’s petulant attitude.

“Just give him the fucking message, Howell,” Hardy snarls. He darts another glance down the corridor, where Mr Richardson is still ambling away. “Don’t forget, I own you.”

Dan can’t help the snort of laughter that bursts out. “Crawl out of your dad’s asshole, Hardy. You own squat.”

Hardy just grins. “Try me, Howell.”

He holds Dan’s gaze for a moment, then spins away, stalking down the corridor. His friends follow hot on his heels. Dan watches them for a moment, then straightens his jacket, rolls his eyes and resumes his journey to the art studio. Phil’s warbling hasn’t stopped the entire time, which proves just how thick-headed those idiots truly are. They wanted to find Phil to relay this ‘message’, yet failed to realise he’s through the door ten feet away.

Dan knocks on the closed studio door, but Phil is singing too loudly to hear, so he pushes it open. There’s an enormous, human-sized canvas in front of Phil, on which he is painting a life-size portrait of Amanda, from her mahogany curls, right down to the pointed shoes on her miniature feet. The work looks painstaking; Dan has no idea how long Phil has been working on it, but he’d guess days. Currently, he’s on his knees, detailing Amanda’s fingers on her right hand, singing along as he does so.

“You really captured her superficiality,” Dan says, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Phil jumps slightly, then turns to Dan with a smile. “You like her?”

Avoiding the question, Dan ambles over to the table where Phil’s paints are scattered. “You sound like a dying cat.”

“Thanks,” Phil says. “I’ve been practicing.”  He stands up and walks to the ancient boombox, spinning a dial to turn  _ Muse _ down. “What are you doing here, then? Thought you’d already be at work.”

“Mr Richardson owed me a spanking,” Dan replies, picking up a paintbrush and swirling it in a glob of crimson.

“You got detention again? What for?”

Dan shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Dan,” Phil sighs. There’s an admonishment caught on his lip, but he doesn’t verbalise it. Instead, he wanders over to lean on the desk beside Dan. “Did I hear a scuffle outside? That wasn’t you was it?”

Dan shakes his head. “Not me.” He gestures to the portrait in front of them. “So, what’s this for? Entering the race for the Guinness World Record of creepiest stalker?”

Phil nudges him in the shoulder. “I’m gonna give it to her.”

“What the fuck’s she gonna do with it? Display it over her fireplace?”

“I don’t know! People like getting pictures of themselves.”

A hundred further teasing comments swirl around Dan’s brain, but there’s something about the tension in Phil’s shoulders, something about the stripped back expression he wears that halts him.

“It’s really good, you know,” Dan says instead. Phil’s eyebrows travel a short way up his forehead. Dan clears his throat and hops down off the desk before he can reply. “Anyway, just heard your caterwauling and thought I’d see if I could put a stop to it. I’m off to work.”

Phil nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Mind if I stop by later?”

“Yes. Go home and leave me to do my job in peace.”

“Cool. I’ll come in about seven. You can stay at mine after if you want.”

“Whatever,” Dan says.

Inside, the relief of this offer is overwhelming. Tonight is Ricky’s night off, so he’ll be home all evening. Dan wonders briefly if Phil might know this, but it seems unlikely. It’s probably just a random offer. He waves vaguely at Phil, and heads for the door.

“Dan?”

He stops. Turns. “What?”

“Thanks for saying it’s good.”

Awkwardly, Dan holds his gaze for a moment. “Yeah. No worries.”

*

It’s nine fifty-three and Phil still isn’t at the cafe. Dan has to close at ten – should already be closing up, in fact – but Phil said he’d be here. So he waits until the last second. He begins the closing routine slowly, rinsing out the coffee machine piece by piece, taking out the tray and scrubbing it in the kitchen sink, then the grill, then the grinder too. He sweeps and mops the floor, flips the ‘open’ sign to ‘sorry, we’re closed’, but keeps the door unlocked just in case. It gets to ten-thirty, and Dan runs out of tasks to do. He needs to leave.

The nicotine craving burns at his stomach as he locks the door. The local off-licence will be closed now, but if he goes to Ozone, he might be able to snag one off Ben or someone. Maybe he could even wrangle a whole pack. He grimaces at the thought of what he might have to do for a cigarette fix, but swallows down his reservations. Anything is better than going home and facing an angry, likely drunk Ricky.

He pulls his hood up and heads for the bus stop, eyes down. He has just enough change in his pocket for the bus, though it’s mostly in pennies, so the driver isn’t pleased. Dan just avoids his eye, finds a seat near the back and plugs himself into his music. It’s not far to Ozone, maybe fifteen minutes. Halfway through the journey, his phone buzzes.

**From: Phil**

**To: Dan**

**10:44pm**

hey!!! Sorry I didn’t make it

to the cafe – I drove past Amanda

at the fountain in town so I risked

it and stopped to chat :o her mates

left her without a way to get home

so we got a coffee and I drove her

back. Been debriefing with mum lol

I forgot all about coming to see u!

Still welcome to come over if u

want! Im just chilling at home but

gonna go to bed soon. Up to you!

hope work wasn’t too killer :P

xx

Dan skims the message once, then pockets the phone without replying. His heart aches in an annoying way. All he can see is Phil and Amanda, sipping Costa coffee perched on the lip of the fountain in the town square. In some kind of cruelly ironic cinematic moment, the bus glides past this very fountain. Dan turns his face from the window.

Eventually, his stop comes up, and Dan all but runs the rest of the way. Ozone is the town’s only club, and it’s really more of a large bar. There’s a dancefloor, sort of, and a stage, but mostly it’s high tables with bar stools and hundreds of vaguely menacing drunk people, utilising the one decent place that stays open late every day. Dan slips in with a loaded glance at Ben on the door. It takes him less than five minutes to zero in on the poor sucker he’ll be getting to buy him drinks tonight, and even less time to sidle up, flash a sultry smile, and ask the dude for a JD and coke, no ice.

“Cheeky shit,” the guy says, but turns around and orders it anyway. He’s tall and broad, alone with only his pint. Dan learns his name, then forgets it in the next moment. The dude doesn’t seem to care.

“You got any fags?” Dan asks after he’s listened to whatever dull shite the guy is saying for as long as he can stand. “I’m  _ desperate _ .”

He loads the last word, hating himself.

The guy grins, exposing a graveyard of yellowing teeth, stained from nicotine and dark beer. “Yeah?” His fingers are scratching underneath the hem of Dan’s shirt. “What’ll I get in return?”

Dan says nothing, just holds his gaze, smiling.

“I’ve got a pack of Djarums,” the dude says, patting his jacket pocket. “Were meant for my missus, but I could be persuaded otherwise.”

“Are Djarums the cherry ones?” Dan asks, wrinkling his nose. He’s already scanning the crowd discreetly, looking for another person he could ask.

“You want ‘em or not, princess?”

Dan hesitates. The guy smells like a brewery, and his hair is thinning. Not to mention, there’s a dull gold ring on his finger. But Dan hasn’t had a smoke in over 24 hours, and there’s no point in pretending he’s about to go home. Phil is asleep by now, probably.

He smiles, holding out his hand. “I want them.”

The guy takes it, downs the dregs of his pint, and follows Dan through the scattered, glassy-eyed people, into the back.

*

It’s 3am, but Phil lets him in anyway. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and his hair is sticking up, but he doesn’t even ask why Dan is on his doorstep. To avoid waking everyone up, Dan had texted Phil that he was outside. He has no idea how Phil woke up to receive it.

Dan silently follows Phil up the stairs, waits patiently on the edge of his bed as Phil finds him a big t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He changes while Phil is out of the room. When he returns, he has a glass of water in his hand, which he hands to Dan.

“Ready?” Phil asks, then crawls into the indent he’s already left in the mattress.

Dan places the water down on Phil’s bedside table, and slips in beside him. He keeps a few inches between his own limbs and Phil’s at first, but inevitably Phil closes the gap. He’s always been a fidgety sleeper. Dan wonders if that’s the sort of thing best friends are supposed to know about each other.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil mutters. He lays his fingers on Dan’s arm.

There’s a tight, sharp scratching at the back of Dan’s throat. He doesn’t think it’s from the cigarettes. “Yeah. Is it gross?”

“No,” Phil says at once. He takes a deep, long breath in. “Smells nice.”

Maybe that guy from the bar will give him another pack. Maybe, if Dan’s extra nice, and can smile just sweetly enough, he’ll never have to smoke anything but Djarums, and he’ll smell just like this forever, and Phil’s smile will look just like this, like it does right now, every time he breathes it in.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Phil shows up at his door, Dan immediately knows something is up.
> 
> When he pushes his way into the house, brandishing Skittles (Dan’s favourite sweets), his signed N-Sync CD that Dan has not-so-secretly coveted for years, and promises of eternal untold favours, Dan knows he’s about to be roped into doing something stupendously awful.

It’s a Saturday, and Dan’s at work. So on the whole, he’s not having the best weekend. Louise is here, along with the kitchen porter, PJ, who comes in on Saturdays to help with the astronomical load of washing up.

“Thank you,” Dan says as a lady hands him change over the counter. He checks it to make sure it’s enough, and opens the till. As he does so, the little boy beside her catches his eye; he’s staring at Dan with big, round eyes, twirling to and fro as he hangs onto his mum’s wrist.

“I’ll um,” Dan says, distracted by the boy’s intense stare. “I’ll bring your drinks to your table.”

“Thank you,” she replies with a brisk smile.

Before she can take a step, the little boy tugs on her arm. “Mummy, why does that boy have a ring in his lips?”

“Lenny!” The woman flushes. “Don’t be rude.” She glances up at Dan. “Sorry.”

Dan forces a smile, but turns away, feeling his own face heating. His tongue sweeps over his lower lip piercing. He likes the sharp, metallic taste of it. It’s a miracle that Louise allows him to keep his piercings; this isn’t the first time a customer has commented on them. A place called ‘The Cherry Tree Café’ isn’t too cohesive with Dan’s ‘look’, and it can sometimes take people by surprise.

As he waits for the milk to froth, Dan reaches up to feel the plethora of studs and rings in his left ear. He has five up the side on the shell, including a bar, one in his tragus, and two small hoops in his lobe. He had a tongue piercing once, but got rid of it after some guy asked him if it was a blowjob fetish thing. He has a stud in his nose, and two tattoos. One is a stick and poke design that Dan did himself, of a tiny UFO beaming a man up into the air. The other is a bigger, floral design over his right shoulder and some of his collarbone. He’d gotten it at a tattoo festival he attended a year ago; wildflowers shaded in black and white, with a few small, deep red roses between.

Dan’s only eighteen, but he’s embellished his body with more than most people his age, he’s aware. Mostly, the decorations make him feel better about himself. Some days though, the attention can be unwanted. He doesn’t want kids to see him as some kind of freak.

“Hey, can we order?” A voice calls from behind him as he’s pouring a babyccino.

Dan glances over his shoulder. Lilian Clarke is waving her hand vaguely at him from a table near the back of the room. A quick glance around her gaggle of clones is enough to secure that Amanda is with her, tapping at her phone on a seat to Lilian’s left. He’s about to shout to her that she needs to come to the counter to order, but at that moment, Louise approaches.

“You go deal with her,” Louise says, rolling her eyes. “It’s easier to just let her have her way. I’ll finish up the coffees.”

Dan looks pleadingly at Louise, but she just raises an eyebrow, clearly not about to budge.

“Fine,” Dan mutters. “It’s a skinny, extra hot latte with cinnamon and a babyccino with chocolate dusting. Table three, woman with the nosy kid.”

“Got it.” Louise moves into Dan’s space beside the coffee machine.

Sighing heavily, Dan begins the walk towards Lilian’s table. She eyes him as he approaches, looking him up and down with obvious distaste.

“About time,” she says crossly once he gets to her; some of her friends snigger. “I hope you’ve washed all the nasty nicotine smell off your hands.”

Heroically swallowing the urge to slap her, Dan instead gives her a charming smile. At the very least, the sight of it seems to throw her enough that she shuts up for a little while.

“What can I get you?” He asks in his best customer service voice.

Lilian raises an eyebrow. “So polite today!” Dan just waits patiently, praying for this exchange to end so that he can beg Louise for his next cigarette break. “I’ll have an almond milk cappuccino. No foam.”

“Uh…” Dan frowns, wondering how to phrase this nicely. “A cappuccino is espresso and foam… also almond milk doesn’t really froth that well, perhaps I could suggest a soya cappuccino instead-”

“Are you thick as well as rude?” Lilian interrupts. “Soya milk is full of oestrogen, I don’t want to swell two cup sizes and then grow a fucking moustache. Make me an almond milk cappuccino, dipshit. And when I say no foam, I mean  _ wet,  _ not dry, duh! Christ, it isn’t difficult.”

Dan bites his tongue, struggling to remain composed. “Right, of course. I’ll get that right away.” He breathes out through his nose, heat coursing through him. “Anything else?”

Rebecca and Elizabeth, the two other girls at the table, ask for the same. Dan nods, then turns reluctantly to Amanda, who has yet to speak. Her eyes remain glued to her phone, apparently completely oblivious.

“Amanda?” Lilian barks.

“Yeah?” Amanda asks, glancing up. Her gaze skims over Dan, barely seeing him, then lands back on Lilian.

Christ, she’s beautiful. She’s like a renaissance painting up close. Her brown curls have a reddish glow to them in the light; Dan’s sure that’s natural. No dye job could achieve such effortless radiance.

“What do you want to drink?” Lilian asks, sounding irritable.

“Oh, I’ll just have a water, thanks,” Amanda says, shooting Dan a quick smile.

Dan nods. He watches Amanda slip back into her text conversation. He can’t help but notice her dated phone with its cracked screen and no cover. Lilian and her friends all have the latest models, covered in Gucci cases and bedazzled with crystals. 

 

Unlike her friends, Amanda is not wearing pearl earrings or a designer jacket. She has no tiny Prada handbag at her feet, just a basic rucksack in a pale peach colour. Sure, she’s easily the most beautiful girl at the table, or even the whole cafe, but she’s by far the least glamorous. 

 

Belatedly, Dan realises that he’s staring like a creep, and Lilian is now glaring. “Want a picture? Off you go.”

Dan’s fixed smile wavers, but he turns on his heel obediently, heading back over towards the counter.

“Tell me everything she said,” Louise whispers excitedly the moment Dan is within earshot. “God, I hate that bitch.”

Dan snorts with laughter. Despite being a hard-ass when she’s in manager-mode, Louise is actually pretty funny. She is absolutely a gossip-obsessed scoundrel, but as she’s no longer in high school, she can kind of get away with it.

“She tried to Starbucks-school me,” Dan sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Ugh,” Louise says loudly, screwing up her face in disgust. “The worst kind of customer. What did she order? Six-pump hazelnut iced macchiato?”

Dan chuckles, moving over to the coffee machine to begin making an impossible coffee.

“Close,” he says, pouring a slosh of almond milk into one of the jugs. “She wants an almond milk cappuccino, but get this-” Dan turns to Louise, smirking. “ _ No foam _ .”

Louise snorts so loudly that she has to cover her mouth and nose with one hand. Once she has regained composure, she attempts to busy herself with restocking the sugar and stirrers.

“Some people,” she sighs as she works.

“What people?” PJ asks, walking out of the kitchen with an armful of freshly washed crockery.

“The usual designer-handbag dicks over on table four,” Louise says, inclining her head towards Lilian and Amanda’s group.

“Oh, them,” PJ says, turning to stack the mugs back on the shelf.

“Do you know them?” Dan can’t help but ask, plucking a mug from PJ’s hands.

“Know them?” PJ asks, snorting. “Are you kidding? They’re the rich kids, right?”

Dan purses his lips, saying nothing. He supposes everyone knows of them, but few could actually claim to know them personally.

“Actually, I have talked to Amanda before,” PJ says breezily, placing the last of the saucers on the shelf. “Once.”

Dan imagines that the sound of his ears pricking can be heard from across the street. He attempts to remain composed, nonchalant.

“You have?”  

“Her family live down the road from me,” PJ says, like it’s not unheard of to have so much as stepped in the shadow of an Elite member without being some kind of customer service worker. “My parents had this lame ‘get to know the neighbours’ party around a year ago. She came with her mum and little brothers.”

Dan tries to appear uninterested by this information, though in truth his mind is reeling. The sight of her, along with the few words they exchanged a moment ago have confused him a little. He always lumped her in with the rest of the gaggle of idiot, money-hungry vultures she hangs out with, but he’s starting to find it difficult to actually see anything hateful about her besides her evil friends.

“Oh,” Dan says as he pours the cappuccino out into the mug. “What did she talk to you about?”

PJ shrugs, leaning against the counter. “Usual stuff. Just polite  _ ‘you go to my school, right?’ _ ,  _ ‘do you have Mr Harris for Maths?’ _ ,  _ ‘I remember how awful he was’ _ …” PJ shrugs again. “That kind of thing.”

Dan nods, slightly disappointed by this answer.

“I tell you what though, her mum is a nasty piece of work,” PJ says out of the blue; Dan looks up at him in surprise, the cappuccino held in one hand. “She turned up blind drunk to the party, even though it was at like two in the afternoon. She slapped her kids – Amanda’s brothers – if they acted up, yelled all sorts of stuff at them, swore at them too. I saw Amanda take them home eventually, then she came back to get her mum a bit later.”

Dan stares at PJ, wide-eyed, not sure what to say. The picture he’s conjuring sounds all too familiar to Dan, and he’s finding it very troubling. He’d never considered the idea that Amanda might be coming from a broken home.

“God knows what’s going on behind closed doors with that girl,” PJ says, shaking his head pityingly. He glances over at her table. “What did she order?”

“Just a water,” Dan says quietly, the implication of this sinking in now that he’s heard a little more about her.

PJ shakes his head. “Well, I’d say at least she’s got her friends, but I doubt they’re very sympathetic.”

“Come on you two, stop yabbering,” Louise scolds, ushering PJ back into the kitchen, hot on his heels.

Dan is left standing with the rapidly cooling almond cappuccino, not sure what just happened.

“Hey, metalface!” Lilian’s shrill voice calls from across the room, breaking Dan out of his momentary trance. “Cappuccino?”

“Coming,” Dan calls back, shaking the thoughts away for now, pushing them far to the back of his mind until later, when he can dissect them properly.

\---

When Phil shows up at his door, Dan immediately knows something is up.

When he pushes his way into the house, brandishing Skittles (Dan’s favourite sweets), his signed N-Sync CD that Dan has not-so-secretly coveted for years, and promises of eternal untold favours, Dan knows he’s about to be roped into doing something stupendously awful.

“What do you want?” Dan asks, closing the front door behind them and leaning against it.  

Phil smiles sheepishly, dithering in the middle of the hallway. He chucks a packet of Skittles to Dan, who catches them just in time. “Can’t I just want to shower my bestest friend with treats?”

“No,” Dan says, deadpan. He rips open the Skittles anyway, pouring some into his mouth. “You should know at this point that if you want something from me, threats work better than bribery.”

“Okay,” Phil laughs, stalking over to Dan and grabbing him, rather unexpectedly, by the collar of his shirt. “Listen punk, you wanna make it out of here with all your toes, you’d better do as I say.”

His grip is loose, and he’s laughing as he speaks, obviously just messing about, but Dan is not prepared for Phil to be quite so close, and he immediately chokes on a Skittle. Alarmed by Dan’s spluttering, Phil releases him in a panic, thumping him on the back. Dan gathers himself, finding oxygen once more, and curses himself for being such a cliché. If he’s ever going to get over this little crush he’s discovered, he really needs to get a grip.

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, still sounding alarmed. “I guess I’m more menacing than I thought!”

Dan rolls his eyes, willing the redness to dissipate from his cheeks. “I’m fine. Just tell me what it is you need from me.”

Phil hesitates, clearly unsure. “It’s a pretty big favour.” He pauses again, gnawing at his lip.

Dan wonders how to phrase the reply  _ ‘I’d literally jump in front of a moving train if you asked me in the right way’ _ without coming off as a literal mental case.

Instead, Dan opts for: “I can’t say yes or no until you spit it out, Phil.”

“You can drive, right?”

Dan stares at Phil, wondering where on earth he could be going with this.

“Ye-es…”

“Okay, so…” Phil bounces onto the balls of his feet, dithering. “My plan for Prom night was to pick Amanda up, take her for something to eat, and then drive to school.”

 

The scratch of a key in the front door lock makes Dan jump. He leaps away from the door, grabs Phil by the wrist and tugs him to the stairs. “Ricky,” he says by way of explanation. He doesn’t turn to see the responding expression on Phil’s face, but judging by his lack of resistance, he seems to understand. “Let’s go to my room.” 

“Okay,” Phil says quietly, following Dan up the stained carpet staircase.

It’s so embarrassing, having Phil here. Dan can barely stand to watch as he surveys the tiny space in which Dan sleeps. The walls are a yellowing white, the paint peeling off in the corners. Initially, Dan half-heartedly stuck up some posters, but it just looked crappy and cheap, so he tore most of them down. He has one photo blu-tacked to his headboard. It’s a selfie that Phil forced him to take, of both of them. It was on a day that Phil had been exceptionally energetic, and had practically kidnapped Dan, driven him miles into the middle of nowhere so they could hike over some weird moorland. They’d gotten lost, obviously, because Dan has never hiked in his life apart from that one time, and Phil’s sense of direction might be decent if he wasn’t so easily distracted by everything from a strange coloured plant to a funny shaped tree. 

 

Nevertheless, Phil had wrapped an arm around Dan’s shoulders, pulled their faces close as the wind roared around them, and snapped a photo. Much later, he’d tucked the printed picture into a birthday card for Dan, and Dan, not having the heart to throw it out, stuck it to his bed. Phil sits down on that same bed now, sprawling out on his front like it’s his own, and shuffles up until he can study the picture more closely.

“You look so grumpy here,” Phil laughs. He tosses a glance at Dan over his shoulder, winking. “Such a change from usual.”

“Shut up,” Dan says tiredly, slumping down into the only chair in his room. It’s covered in discarded clothes and school papers, but he can’t be bothered to clear any of it off. “Come on then, out with this favour. What’s your big Prom plan got to do with me?”

“Right, right,” Phil says, rolling onto his side in order to look at Dan. There’s a clatter from downstairs and Dan freezes, eyes wide. “So,” Phil continues, noticing nothing amiss. His calm attitude is a good relaxant. “I wanted to take her to get pizza-”

“ _ Pizza _ ?”

“Yes,” Phil says, sticking his tongue out.

“What toppings will you choose for her? Caviar and foie gras?”

“Shut up,” Phil groans. “Everyone likes pizza.”

“Even Amanda Jones?”

“Yes! Now be quiet.”

“Alright, alright.” Dan sighs, surrendering.

“So, the point is, I’ve got like, several destinations in mind.” Phil says. “And… as of this morning, I have no car.”

“No car,” Dan repeats. “What happened to your car?”

Phil has an adorable little red Vauxhall Corsa that he’s named Susan; it groans when it runs and the brakes squeal every time he presses on them, but Phil loves it to bits, and honestly, despite being mildly terrified of the thing, Dan has grown to love it too.

“Susan’s dead, Dan.”

Dan’s mouth falls open. “Dead?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, sounding glum. “She won’t start. I called out someone to have a look this morning, but they said she’s gone.”

“Oh, Phil I’m sorry,” Dan says, heart breaking a little for him. “You loved her so much.”

“Yeah, well,” Phil shrugs. “She’s been on her last legs for a while.”

“RIP Susan.”

Phil nods, fingers drumming on his thigh. “Sooo… basically.” Phil clears his throat, casting a pleading look over at Dan. “I need your driving skills.”

For a moment, Dan doesn’t get it. Then, he remembers how fucking terrible life likes to be to him, and the realisation smacks him round the face.

“Are you asking me to be your chauffeur?”

Phil grimaces, wincing at the word. “Maybe.”

Dan scoffs in disbelief. “Why can’t you just get a hire car?”

“Prom is on Friday!” Phil protests, sitting up a little. “There’s no time! Nowhere’s gonna have a car left for Prom night now! Everyone in school will have booked them out months ago.”

Dan sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Your hair looks good like that,” Phil says out of nowhere.

The look on his face is unfamiliar. His eyes are glazed, fixed to the crown of Dan’s head, as though his untidy mess of post-shower curls are worth the attention.

“Have you forgotten to put your contacts in?” Dan asks dryly, though the blood rushes into his cheek capillaries nonetheless.

Phil’s head shakes slowly from side to side. “You suit curls.”

“I look like a hobbit, Phil.”

Phil smiles, so sweetly that Dan has to look away. “Hobbits are cute.”

Dan is quiet. He has no idea how to respond to something so absurd, so he decides to just pretend it never happened. He clears his throat, glancing at the wall.

“I’ll do it for another three packs of Skittles,” he mumbles. His cheeks are on fire.

“Really!?” Phil sits up eagerly.

“Also you have to promise me that you’ll stop sneaking into the kitchen at work,” Dan warns, jabbing a finger at him.

“Done!” Phil agrees quickly, scooping himself off the bed in order to hug Dan.

“Get off!” Dan says unconvincingly into the crook of Phil’s shoulder, but places his hand on Phil’s back even so.

“I owe you one, Dan.” Phil says cheerily. “Thank you.”

\---

“It’s your day off today, right?” 

Dan is distracted by the various drawings and artwork Phil has stuck on the inside of his locker. Each week there’s something new, usually more experimental. Dan loves every one of Phil’s pieces, but he’d never ask him for one outright. Sometimes Phil will give him something to ‘brighten up’ his own locker, but Dan never remembers or bothers to decorate it. He never even uses his locker, as he rarely can be bothered to bring his books to school.

“Uh, yeah,” Dan replies, fixated on a charcoal drawing of something that appears to be a five-legged ballerina. “Why?”

Phil slams his locker closed, making Dan blink. “I need your help with something.”

“Whoops sorry, you’ve used up your Dan-favours for the next several years,” he says as he falls into step with Phil, ambling along the corridor to the Science block.

He and Phil are still lab partners in Chemistry, even years later. It’s one of the only bearable lessons at this school. At St Anthony’s, core subjects like Maths, English and Science are compulsory for all students, even in Sixth Form. You only have to take one of the Science subjects - Biology, Physics, or Chemistry - so obviously Dan just selected the one Phil decided on. He has zero interest in bunsen burners or covalent bonds.

“It’s just a tiny thing,” Phil pleads. “I just want your help making a decision.”

There’s nothing that Phil could have said that Dan would refuse, probably, but he’s still glad it wasn’t something bigger than helping to make a choice. He already wants to plunge himself into the ocean every time he thinks about the enormous favour he’s doing Phil by driving he and Amanda around on Friday.

“Ugh, fine,” Dan says, trying to load his response with reluctance. “You’ll have to wait until I’m out of detention, though.”

“What? Again?”

Dan shoots Phil an amused smile. “I’m a bad boy, Phil.”

“Mr Patel, Dan’s corrupting my innocence with his rebellious attitude,” Phil calls to the teacher as they stroll into the Chemistry lab. 

Dan elbows Phil in the side, annoyed. 

“Perhaps you should choose a more dedicated lab partner then, Mr Lester,” Mr Patel replies, wandering over to their desk and placing a few vials down before them. Dan rolls his eyes, slumping onto one of the stools. “One that’s not going to drag you down with his lack of commitment to this class.”

“Aw, I kinda like it,” Phil replies cheerily. “Having a deadbeat partner keeps me from zooming to the top of the class. Imagine the hate I’d get from my classmates if I had nothing holding me back.”

Mr Patel’s glasses fall to the tip of his nose. “You’re in no danger of that, I assure you.”

 

*

 

Detention seems even longer and duller to Dan with the knowledge that Phil is waiting for him. He practically sprints to the door at 5pm, so eager that Mr Richardson catches him and forces him to wait for everyone else to sidle out first. 

Dan cracks all his knuckles as he waits, knowing full well Mr Richardson loathes it. By the time he is finally allowed to go, Mr Richardson’s vein is proudly bulging. Phil is in the art studio, of course. He’s singing along to ABBA today, which Dan promptly puts a stop to by yanking the plug out of the boombox as soon as he enters.

“Hey!” Phil turns around, exposing his paint-splattered apron. “I was in the middle of Dancing Queen!”

“It’s bad enough that you sing along to Britney with the windows down every time I get in your car,” Dan tells him. “ABBA is a step too far.”

“They’re the classic singalong band,” Phil says, pouting. He starts untying the apron. “So, how was detention?”

“Thrilling,” Dan replies. “Mr Richardson and I have such a special bond. Practically father and son.”

Phil chuckles, throwing the apron aside. His painting of Amanda is looking near-finished by now; it’s taking Dan quite a bit of effort to stifle his amazement at how deeply it resembles her.

“She’d better appreciate that,” Dan says, then wishes he’d phrased it differently.

Phil glances at the painting, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Hope so. I can feel my soul draining out of me and mixing with the acrylic.”

Dan frowns. “You’re not enjoying it?”

Phil shrugs, looking away. “I dunno. It’s just hard to do something so realistic. Not my usual style.”

_ ‘So why are you doing it?’  _ is on the tip of Dan’s tongue, but Phil interrupts him: “Right, ready to go?”

“Guess so,” Dan replies.

 

*

 

“I thought the ones in the middle,” Phil says, pointing to a pair of black pearl earrings in the shop window. 

Dan stares at the earrings blankly. “For what?”

“For my new Drag act,” Phil says scornfully, rolling his eyes. “For Amanda, duh.”

Dan looks at Phil, bemused. Nothing about these earrings are Amanda. They’re dark and gothic, suited more to a pirate or a wiccan princess than a bubblegum pop queen like Amanda Jones.

“Um,” Dan says. “Well, they’re pretty, but-”

“Yeah?” Phil turns back to the earrings, squinting through the glass. “I think they’ll be expensive, so I didn’t wanna go in and ask before getting a second opinion. You know how shopkeepers in these tiny places are. They trap you, and you leave with the thing even if it’s crap…”

Phil is rambling, clearly nervous. Dan regards him warily; it’s unusual to see him so on edge. He must be really anxious about this whole thing.

“Why are you getting her earrings?” He asks, trying to keep his voice gentle.

Phil shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I just… I feel like I want to give her something. Something she wants, that she deserves. I’m guessing that if she hangs around the Elite people, then she must be into… jewellery. She just can’t afford it like they can.”

“You don’t need to buy her expensive things, Phil,” Dan says. He looks at the earrings again, noting their silver backs, the largeness of the pearls. They must be hundreds of pounds at least. “And you’re giving her that portrait. Don’t you think you should dial it back-”

“It’s not the same,” Phil interrupts. His voice is shrill, defiant. “She deserves to be treated so much better than she has been. Her life is a constant barrage of looking at things she desperately wants, but can’t have. Her friends just show off their new shoes and bags and earrings without thinking. She just has to sit there while they order expensive three course dinners at fancy restaurants. She can’t afford a car, or to go on trips to Lilian’s yacht in the summer. I just want to give her something she wants, something to make it easier.”

Dan can think of a million reasons to argue that Phil’s whole perspective is warped, but he can’t be bothered to battle it out again. Instead, he asks: “How do you know all that?”

“She told me. When I took her home the other day.”

“Oh.” Dan frowns.

“Just tell me if you like them,” Phil urges.

Dan meets his desperate eyes, and instantly relents. “I… yeah. I like them.”

The brilliant, pure smile that bursts across Phil’s face is almost worth the heartache it took to spit those words out. “Cool,” Phil says, then pulls Dan into a brief hug. “Thanks.”

Dan watches as he pushes through the door to the jewellery store, biting down on his tongue to keep from calling him back. He reaches into his back pocket for the pack of cigarettes, badly needing something to sand down the sharp edges of this moment, hopefully blurring it from his memory.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a special treat, I will be posting Chapter Six tonight, in a few hours! Chapter Seven will be posted next Tuesday at 8pm GMT as normal :) xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His palms have gone past clammy into damp; he feels a bit dizzy, from the coffees he’s been drinking, and the cigarette he hasn’t had yet. This is something from his wildest, most surreal dreams, something he honestly never thought would happen, and here it is, right in front of him. He blinks, but it doesn’t go away. Phil is still so irresistibly close, the blue around his eyes thinned to a sliver, his heartbeat loud enough to hear.

Dan hates the closing shift.

Or rather, he hates it  _ usually _ .

He hates the hour it takes to shut the café down after the last customer leaves. He hates having to clean the entire coffee machine inside and out. He hates the pressure of counting the money in the till, especially as he sucks at maths.

He hates having to wipe down every table and surface. He hates having to restock the milk in the fridge and the sugar on the counter. He loathes having to switch off every single light one by one, letting the shadows crawl out of their corners and smother the place. He usually does this final task at the last possible moment, so that he can just walk straight to the door and leave as soon as possible. The café, which is quite a sweet, pretty place with a soft, happy feel in the daytime, becomes something evil in the dark.

Tonight however, it’s not so bad. The late shift is given to Dan at least once a week, because he’s worked here a lot longer than most of the other staff, and so can be trusted. He’s done it so many times that he could do it blindfolded, he’s sure, so Louise allows him to do it on his own.

Tonight, he’s not on his own.

Phil walked to work with him today, and has stayed ever since. He has seemed perfectly content all evening, sat at a table for two in the corner by the window, drawing in his sketchpad. He’s ordered at least three coffees, which he’ll probably regret once he gets home and can’t sleep, but Dan isn’t going to lecture him again. The last customer left around twenty minutes ago, and Phil is still there, frowning down at whatever he’s sketching. Dan has just finished counting up, so he walks over to Phil’s table to collect the mug he’s been drinking from.

“You planning on sleeping here?” He asks, picking up the mug and saucer.

Phil looks up at him in surprise. “Oh, hey let me take that.”

Dan snorts at him. “It’s literally my job, Phil.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Dan walks away then, shaking his head fondly at Phil’s owlish protestations.

“Am I slowing you down?” Phil calls as Dan heads into the kitchen. “I can go if you like.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dan calls back, rinsing the crockery before stacking it into the dishwasher. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“It’s kind of creepy here after hours,” Phil says as Dan walks back out. “I don’t know how you do it all on your own.”

“I’m not on my own,” Dan counters.

There’s a hesitance on Phil’s face when Dan glances at him. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you? For going through with the date.”

 

Dan looks away, busying himself with stacking chairs. The scraping of the legs on the tiled floor makes him wince. “It’s certainly brave.”

Phil snorts. “Brave. Because you think it’s a joke. That she doesn’t actually like me, and that she’s doing it to get back at Hardy.”

A chair clatters from Dan’s hands, and he curses. Instead of picking it back up, he turns to Phil. “It might have crossed my mind.”

“I know that’s what everyone thinks,” Phil says, shrugging. “That she’s just using me. I get it. It’s ridiculous to think she’d actually consider me.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you, Phil,” Dan says quietly. “That’s just how they are in the Elite. They don’t think about the feelings of people like us. The only time they even acknowledge us is if we can benefit their lives in some way. Getting them coffee. Giving them lifts home. Making their boyfriend’s jealous.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Phil says dismissively, frowning in an uncharacteristic way. “I’m still gonna go through with it.”

 

Getting through to Phil is like trying to get through to the floor beneath his feet. 

“Even if you know for sure that she’s stringing you along?” Dan asks, barely disguising his frustration. “Phil, that’s suicidal. If she’s purposefully dangling you in front of Hardy Jenns you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

“If that’s her intention going in, that’s her problem. I’m gonna change her mind by the time the date is over,” Phil says confidently. 

“Okay, now I do think you’re nuts,” Dan says.

He begins stacking the chairs again, loudly and with a recklessness that he wouldn’t normally. He should drop this, change the subject or something. But the irritation is overwhelming. Phil can’t see two feet under his nose. He’s being stubborn, because he feels he has to prove he can go through with this now, even though every star in the sky is screaming at him to turn back. 

“I’ve thought about it a lot, Dan.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

“I have,” Phil insists.  I think I can make her see that it’s better to be in the real world with the rest of us, rather than up in the clouds of the Elite. That she’d be happier without all the drama and the materialism and the seedy guys.”

Dan snorts. “How’re you gonna show her that, exactly? What’ve you got to offer her apart from a paintbrush and some overpriced jewellery? I mean, have you even properly kissed a girl?”

He doesn’t mean it to come out so harshly, but he’s angry, and his tongue doesn’t listen to him when he gets into a state. He shuts his eyes, placing the chair in his hands down.

“Sorry,” he says bitterly, “I didn’t mean-”

“No, you’re right,” Phil interrupts. He stands slowly from his chair and lifts it onto the table. “I’ve only ever kissed one person. It’s been worrying me a little, actually.”

Dan stares at him through the legs of several chairs, trying to think of something to say.

“You think Amanda would notice something like that?” Phil asks, meeting Dan’s eye. His raw, genuine concern is so obvious in his expression that Dan has to tear his gaze away.

 

“Maybe.” He can’t stop himself saying it, because it’s the truth. “Amanda Jones isn’t likely to be fooled by an amateur kiss, if you ask me. That babe’s got plenty of battle scars.”

Phil rolls his eyes at the wording, but catches hold of his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it to and fro. “You think?”

Dan nods slowly, leaning against an unstacked table for some support. Something about this conversation feels dangerous. Dan can feel his heart racing, his palms growing damp. He swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Well, if you think you can deliver a kiss that kills, you probably can,” Dan says, one shoulder shrugging. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“No,” Phil says hurriedly, taking a step towards him. “I’m no expert.”

Dan stares at him.

“Well… it’s all about, like,” Dan flounders, feeling himself grow red. “Confidence.”

Phil ducks his chin towards his chest, then peers up at Dan, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Before Dan can react, Phil’s closing the short distance between them in three long strides, pushing him up against the table behind him. Dan’s lungs seize up, but manages to gather himself enough to prevent himself from squealing at the unexpected attack.

“Like this?” Phil asks. 

 

He’s smirking like it’s a stupid joke, but Dan’s breaths are still getting stuck in his throat. Dan rolls his eyes, but there’s no way Phil can’t hear the hammering of his heart. 

 

“Yeah, just ram her up against the table,” Dan says, ever the sarcastic bitch. “She definitely won’t find that creepy.”

Phil snickers. “You seem to like it.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead of obeying Dan’s command, Phil seizes hold of him by the thighs and lifts him deftly onto the tabletop, slotting himself between Dan’s legs. At this point, Dan is sure he’ll combust, so he focuses all of his attention on the tasks he has left to do before locking up tonight.  _ Mop the floor in the kitchen, put the float into the safe, kick Phil in the balls for being such a fucking tease… _

“So, what next?”

Exasperated, Dan glares at him, struggling to break free of Phil’s hold. “Forget it, I did not sign up to be your snogging tutor.”

“Dan, I’m literally begging,” Phil says, letting slip a sudden flash of the insecurity lurking beneath his flirtatious demeanour. “I just need to know if I suck. I just need to be  _ passable. _ You can help me, I know you can.”

Dan is far, far too soft, he thinks, melting immediately, of course. Any resistance he may once have had was dissolved a few nights ago, in Phil’s bed, when the realisation of his own feelings for the man avalanched down upon him. He’s been trapped underneath the debris of that revelation ever since, struggling to breathe, aching and tortured, awaiting rescue that won’t come.  

“Ugh, fine,” Dan says, as if it’s some huge inconvenience. 

Phil’s hands release Dan’s thighs, clapping together in glee. “Thank you, Dan. I owe you.”

“At this point, your debt to me is higher than all of England.”

“Right, so what do I do now?”

Dan struggles to focus, but catches sight of Phil’s frantically fidgeting hands. He can start with that, at least. “What are you gonna do with your hands?”

Phil blinks at him, confused. “Uh, it- it depends-”

“No,” Dan tells him firmly. “It doesn’t depend. They go on my- on her hips.” He blushes, waiting for this to register, but Phil just stares.  “Do it, you pleb.”

Phil chuckles nervously, but reaches out to place his hands on Dan’s hips. They’re just resting there, light as anything, but the touch of him, light and warm, still makes Dan want to cry.

“Okay,” he chokes out. “She’ll um- she’ll probably do this.”

Dan stretches his own arms out, reaching up until he’s got them locked around Phil’s neck.

“Is that what you’d do?” Phil asks, his voice sounding strange and thin. “If I were- if it were you being kissed?”

Dan shrugs, disliking the question. “Prob’ly.”

Phil nods, drinking down the information like it’s gold. “Okay, what now?”

“So, close your eyes,” Dan instructs, and Phil does. He’s so passively beautiful. All pale skin and dark lashes. Dan is not in any way ready for what’s about to happen here. How the fuck did he get himself into this situation? “Now, lean in really close to me, but… don’t touch me yet.”

There’s no denying that at this point, self indulgence has come into play. Dan can’t bring himself to feel too bad about it. He’s never going to get an opportunity like this again, and in all likelihood Phil’s too clueless to cotton on to whether Dan might be a little biased in his instruction. Phil closes some of the distance between them, their lips close now; Dan tightens his lock around Phil’s neck. He smells like the caramel macchiatos Dan’s been making for him all evening.

He lets Phil wait for it. In Dan’s opinion, the best part about a kiss is the build up. It’s the space between them, humming with an electric yearning. It’s the eyes darting to one another’s mouths, and the slow, careful dance around the minefield of wrong moves as they work up to it.

“Okay,” Dan whispers, knowing his breath will sizzle against Phil’s lips. He feels Phil shiver, and it makes his stomach flip. “Now, open your eyes.”

Confused, Phil does as told. He seems a little stunned to see Dan up so close.

“Like this?”

Dan nods, their noses brushing. “Tell her something.”

Phil frowns. “Tell her what?”

“Whatever you want,” Dan near-whispers. For some reason, his eyes sting. He focuses them on Phil’s tongue as it sweeps over his lower lip. “Tell her she’s got pretty eyes, or she’s a hot babe. Whatever you want.”

“I’m not telling her she’s a hot babe,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. He seems a little pink-cheeked, though. “And I’m certainly not telling you you’re a hot babe.”

“So tell me something else, then,” Dan says before he can stop himself. “I mean, pretend I’m her.  _ Amanda _ . And tell me what you want to tell me.”

“Pretend you’re her?” Phil asks, eyes roving over Dan’s face as though it’s an impossible feat.

“I know it’s a stretch Phil, but try it.”

Phil is silent, his lips pressing together as he surveys Dan, still so close that he’s probably all blurry in Phil’s vision anyway. Eventually, Dan kicks him.

“Come on,” he prompts, heart stuttering already. 

His palms have gone past clammy into damp; he feels a bit dizzy, from the coffees he’s been drinking, and the cigarette he hasn’t had yet. This is something from his wildest, most surreal dreams, something he honestly never thought would happen, and here it is, right in front of him. He blinks, but it doesn’t go away. Phil is still so irresistibly close, the blue around his eyes thinned to a sliver, his heartbeat loud enough to hear.

“You’re the most beautiful thing…” Phil starts to say, his voice slow and quiet. “I have ever seen.”

Dan’s breath catches, and he feels his eyes sting again. He nods. “That’ll work.”

“Now what?” Phil asks.

“Now kiss me.”

Phil’s eyes widen, but he leans forwards readily. Dan’s breath hitches again, and he finds himself drawing back a little.

“Wait,” he says hurriedly. He fixes Phil with a hard stare, trying to appear as unaffected as possible. “If you stick your tongue in my mouth, I will bite it off, do you understand?”

Phil laughs, looking a little relieved, and nods. Then, the hands on his hips yank him forwards, and Dan is being kissed. Slowly at first, tentative and unsure, but then harder, hungrier, as though some levee inside of Phil has broken. His hands tighten on Dan’s hips, fingers pushing into Dan’s skin, so hard it could bruise.

Phil’s lips drag Dan’s apart; he flicks his tongue against Dan’s lip ring, then pushes it into Dan’s mouth, breaking the one, singular rule Dan had given him, but he finds he doesn’t even care. He never meant it anyway. He likes tongue. He would give anything  _ not _ to know the taste of Phil’s, but only because he’ll never know it again. 

 

He tastes like coffee, and caramel, and the bitter lead of his pencil when he licks the tip. Dan whimpers as these flavours unfurl across his taste buds; he pulls himself closer to Phil by the vice grip he has around his neck.

They kiss for what feels like hours, but it still isn’t enough. There’s a sudden vibration against his thigh, from what must be the phone in Phil’s pocket. Like a shock of icy water thrown in his face, he remembers the time. He remembers the day, his own name, his tragedy of a life, and more importantly, who Phil is thinking about right now.

Somehow, along with the surge of disgust for himself that rises like bile in his throat, Dan manages to summon the strength to unwind his arms from Phil’s neck and shove, hard, against his chest. Phil stumbles backwards, shocked, his lips wet and reddened. There’s an indent in their corner from where Dan’s lip ring has pressed into his flesh, and the sight of it is making Dan want to throw up.

“Fucking hell, Phil,” Dan pants, staring at him. Phil just stares, stunned, breathing heavily. “You don’t need lessons, okay? You’re fine.”

Dan swallows, hands braced against the table as he tries to gain some control. How did he just let that happen? He is so, so fucked.

“Sorry,” Phil says at last. “I… I don’t know what- you’re just so, um, pretty, and it was all nice and familiar- I guess I just… I got carried away.”

“Carried away,” Dan repeats with a humourless laugh, still breathless. “Just a little.”

Phil ducks his head, his cheeks a little flushed. “Thanks, though. For helping me.”

Dan shakes his head, barely able to believe his ears. He feels a rush of hot, stinging anger flooding his veins, and he glares at Phil, unable to suppress it.

“Sure. What else am I here for, anyway?”

“What?”

“About the only thing I’m good for, isn’t it?” Dan spits out. He stands from the table on jelly legs, untying his apron and yanking it off. “As the town whore, you might as well use me for practise.”

“Dan, what- that is not why I-”

“Save it,” Dan growls, stalking past Phil towards the kitchen.

He pushes through the door, trying to ignore that his throat feels like he’s swallowed a lump of burning hot coal.

“Dan, I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m sorry!” Phil calls from the café floor. Dan leans his head back against the kitchen door separating them, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know what happened, I just- fuck. Please don’t be annoyed.”

Dan bites down hard on his lip, hating that he can still taste Phil there, all sickly sweet syrup and a rich, malty aftertaste.

“Dan?” Phil calls out again. “Please talk to me.”

There’s a push from the other side of the door, jolting Dan forwards. He moves out of its path, letting Phil swing it open. He stands in the doorway, looking shame-faced.

“It’s fine,” Dan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That… happened. Let’s just move the fuck on.”

Phil nods, still a little dazed. “Okay.”

Dan nods, brushing past him as he goes to finish closing up the café. Phil just watches him perform the medial little tasks that need doing with a glazed expression, looking like a lost child.

Dan is about a hundred percent sure he missed something on his to-do list by the time he gets his jacket, but he can’t be bothered to check. Louise can yell at him, he doesn’t care.

“Come on,” Dan says to Phil, his voice gruff still.

He walks to the door, jingling the keys, and opens it for Phil to step out into the dark street. Dan switches all the lights off without looking back, and follows him outside to lock the doors.

“It’s raining,” Phil says, as if Dan hadn’t noticed the moisture pelting him from above.

“You don’t say,” Dan replies, turning the final lock.

“Can I come over?”

Dan freezes, trying not to react. He turns to Phil slowly, a frown creasing his brow. “Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Phil cocks his head like a spaniel. “Why?”

Dan purses his lips, looking up at the rainclouds, invisible in the dark. “Several reasons.”

He doesn’t mention that one of them is that he needs some time to privately flip the memory of Phil kissing him over and over in his mad, analytical brain until it’s wrung dry. He can already tell that that moment in time will forever be etched into his brain, just like his hips will always feel the ghost of Phil’s grip, and his lips… well. No other kiss will ever again mean anything, Dan is sure.

“It’s Prom tomorrow,” Phil says, his voice small. Dan rolls his eyes, wondering if Phil really thinks he could have forgotten when it’s literally all they’ve talked about for weeks. “You’re still gonna drive us, right?”

Dan sighs, desperately wishing he had enough spine to refuse right now. “Said I would, didn’t I?”

He stuffs the keys into his pocket, flicks up the hood of his jacket and starts walking down the street. Phil follows at his side, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. Silvery puffs of air escape from his mouth as he breathes; suddenly, Dan remembers his vice, digging into his back pocket. The packet’s a little damp, but he pulls a cigarette out with his teeth, uncaring.

“I just thought maybe you’d have changed your mind.”

Dan ducks into a doorway, lighting the end of his cigarette. They’re thin and black, these weird cherry flavoured ones, which is undeniably fitting to his aesthetic and mood. “And pass up three bags of Skittles? No way.”

He inhales, then continues walking, Phil still trudging along at his side. “So, I can come over, then?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You’re literally following me home right now. It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Phil says nothing, but when Dan sneaks a glance at his expression, misted from the rain, he’s smiling. 

\---

“Dan?”

The whisper filters through the filmy layer of Dan’s mind, hauling him out of the dream he was about to slip into.

“Dan, are you awake?” Phil’s voice sounds strange.

“Hm,” Dan says, stirring. “I am now.”

He opens his eyes crossly, irritated at being woken from what was sure to be a lovely, long sleep. The first thing he notices, even in the pitch black, is that Phil is very close to him. They’re sharing Dan’s single bed, so obviously their proximity is a little more than normal, but he’s shifted towards Dan’s side significantly.

Dan tries to put some distance back between them, but he’s got the wall behind him. He gives up, mind swirling in an attempt to distract himself from the fact that Phil is wearing his old Muse t-shirt and boxers, and is pressed almost against him, in his bed. Only hours ago, they’d been making out on a table in a closed cafe. Dan no longer feels very sleepy. Phil is staring straight at him, across the pillow. He’s chewing his lip, a worried crease between his brows.

“Wha’s the matter?” Dan asks sleepily. His heart races. “Did you hear Ricky come home?”

Phil shakes his head, and Dan’s lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Phil says quietly; Dan really wishes he hadn’t said it at all. “The kiss, I mean.”

Dan shrugs a shoulder. “S’okay.”

It isn’t, though. It’s far from okay, it’s made everything a hell of a lot worse, but Phil doesn’t know about Dan’s feelings, so it’s not all his fault. Phil’s hand slides onto his hip. It’s warm, and gripping a little too tightly to be normal. Dan stares at him, entirely lost on what’s happening.

“You smell like cherries again,” Phil tells him, so quiet it’s barely audible. “You taste like cherries, too.” 

Dan has no idea what to say, but it turns out he needn’t bother. Phil shifts closer still, that hand on his hip gripping tighter, and then their lips are pressed together. Phil is purposeful, searching, kissing Dan with the same unexpected intensity that he had back in the café. For a fleeting second, Dan is able to hold onto his resistance. He remains rigid, certain that this is a mistake, that Phil is not in his right mind, and that he should not give in to it. But Phil is stubborn, he is patient, and desperate. The hand on his hip feels like a plea, and Dan could never resist Phil’s begging. So he gives in, falls into the welcome warmth of Phil’s wave of wanting. He kisses Phil like he’s starving, not concerned with breaking away this time because he initiated it, there are no ‘kissing lessons’ to disguise it. This is unprecedented, unprovoked, and entirely Phil’s decision.

The hand on Dan’s hip slips round to grab at his bum, mostly to pull their bodies closer together. Dan gasps, allowing his limp, exhausted body to mould itself around Phil’s chest and legs. He imagines the clothes gone, the warm, smooth skin of him beneath, and groans. He winds his hands into Phil’s t-shirt, feeling the heady arousal sweep from his lips, down his chest, and between his legs, leaving a flush in its wake. 

Phil’s hand works its way between them, finding the telltale bump of Dan’s erection and pressing against it. Dan gasps, pulling back from the kiss to look into Phil’s eyes. He should say something, make sure Phil is really sure he wants to do this, but the words die with a firm push of Phil’s fingers. He rubs against Dan in soft, gentle movements, still above his boxers. It’s too teasing to be enough, but Dan shuts his eyes anyway, choking back a moan of bliss. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Phil asks, his voice quiet and husky.

Dan’s eyes fly open, and he shakes his head. Phil doesn’t seem to need any further confirmation. He dips his hand into the waistband of Dan’s boxers, curling his fingers around the length of him. Dan chokes on something – the air, maybe – thrown by the confidence with which Phil moves considering this is, as far as Dan knows, his first time doing anything like this.

Dan’s never been particularly vocal in bed unless asked, so he just buries his face in Phil’s shoulder, whimpering as Phil’s hand pumps a steady rhythm around him, gradually becoming slicker, messier as the build of his orgasm drags over Dan’s body. Phil’s movements are unpracticed, his hand is at an awkward angle, and he hasn’t even pulled Dan’s boxers down, but somehow it’s beyond incredible.

Dan comes hard, unable to stop himself crying out as Phil sinks his teeth into the exposed skin of his neck, sucking a mark there. He shudders as the pleasure ebbs away, going limp in Phil’s arms. Phil pulls his hand out from Dan’s boxers, wiping it on the Muse logo. A few seconds of stunned silence pass in the wake of what just occurred, and then Dan moves, jumping to attention like a soldier going about his routine. He pushes his lips back into Phil’s, just as hungry as before, and slides a hand down his torso, from collarbone to groin.

Phil catches hold of his wrist.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Phil says hurriedly. Through the Muse t-shirt, Dan can feel his heart pounding.

He stares at Phil, confused. “Let me… help you out.”

Phil smiles at him, though it seems a bit strained. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just go to sleep, yeah?”

Dan scans his face, trying to suss out why on earth somebody would refuse a return offer in this situation, but he comes up short. Hey, maybe Phil is just a little strange. Maybe his first time nerves kicked in a little later than expected.

“Are you sure?” Dan asks. His tongue flicks out to play with his lip ring, flirtatious. “I don’t mind, you know.”

Phil’s gaze hones in on the lip ring, and he swallows thickly. “Y-yeah, really. I’m just tired. Sleep.”

Reluctantly, Dan shuffles down, getting comfy again. It’s difficult, because he’d ideally like a shower right now, preferably one with Phil, but it’s obviously not going to happen, so Dan’s gonna just have to suck it up. But not literally, apparently.

“Okay,” Dan says after some thought. He shuffles closer to Phil, a warm and hopeful glow pulsating in his gut for the first time in years. “Goodnight.”

There’s a long time before Phil replies.

“Night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Seven coming next Tuesday at 8pm GMT!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t I? Dan, if I wasn’t pretty and skinny, I’d have no chance. I’d be like you, stuck here with no options. But I saw the opportunity to live a better life and I took it.” Amanda shrugs. Her eyes are hooded, sad. “I know Hardy’s a cheating dirtbag. I’m not blind. But being with him gets me the dolce vita. And yes, it’s superficial and elitist and despicable. Trust me, I hate myself enough for the both of us. But it’s better than the alternative.”

Dan wishes he woke up to soft arms cradling him, and the fond, familiar twinkle in Phil’s vibrant blue eyes. He wishes he woke up to a kiss, as passionate and searching as it had been yesterday. He wishes he woke up to warmth, and tentative happiness, and a sweet, slow beginning of something hopeful and beautiful and new.

Instead, he wakes up alone. He only stirs because he hears a sound, a general shuffling from afar. He blinks, blearily, at the empty space beside him. The indent of Phil is still pressed into the quilt and pillow. He sits up with some difficulty, trying to make sense of the morning, and trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. It’s only when he sees Phil, at the foot of his bed, pulling on his socks with the haste of a fugitive on the run, that he remembers.

Happiness, romance, sweetness - these things are reserved for girls like Amanda. Beautiful, charming people that spend their lives skimming cloud nine, a lucky clover tucked behind one ear. Boys like Dan get strife, and futility, and their hearts stomped on by people that don’t care. He swallows a sharp needle, feeling his eyes sting. Phil glances up, like he’s heard the murmur of Dan’s realisation; there’s guilt brimming in his eyes.

“Oh,” he says softly. He doesn’t seem to see that it’s too late for him to be quiet. Dan is awake now. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You’re leaving?” Dan asks, though the answer is perfectly obvious.

Phil straightens, and nods, avoiding Dan’s eye. “Yeah, I’ve… got a lot to do today.”

“Like what?”

The wave of Phil’s answering smile crashes over Dan’s head, but as it breaks, he feels the guilt lurking beneath the water.

“Tonight is Prom night,” Phil answers. “The big night.”

Dan’s eyes sting ferociously. He has to squeeze them shut. He hopes Phil can’t see the moisture from this far away. “Oh,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “You’re going through with it, then.”

“Of course!” Phil’s voice is too high. “You know that this is the only thing I’ve talked about for weeks.”

Dan nods, his lips pressed together. If Phil weren’t already halfway out the door, he’d kick the guy out himself. “Right.”

“You’re still gonna come, right?” Phil asks. There’s no mistaking the nervousness of his stance, the tremor in his voice.

Dan screws his eyes shut again. “Yeah, I’ll still come.”

“Okay,” Phil says quietly. “Well, I’ll see you later then.”

Without his permission, Phil’s name forces it’s way out of Dan’s mouth, and Phil hesitates, warily. “Don’t you wanna… talk about it?” The words are spiky; they stick in his throat, choking him.

“Talk about what?”

“About last night,” Dan says.

“Oh,” Phil says awkwardly. There’s a flush edging his sharp cheekbones. “About the kiss, you mean?” He laughs, and the sound of it is jarring. “Yeah, thanks again. Needed the practise. You won’t, um… won’t be needing to do me any more favours now.”

Dan nods, silently. If Phil wants to pretend the other bit, the second bit, didn’t happen, Dan isn’t going to humiliate himself by trying to bring it up. Maybe they’ll never talk about it again. Maybe that’s good. Maybe one day, in the distant future, it’ll be such a vague, hazy memory that Dan could convince himself it was all a dream.

“So I’ll see you this evening,” Phil says after a while.

Dan doesn’t reply.

When he lifts his gaze to the door, Phil is gone.

*

“Where’re you going?”

Dan freezes. If he’d just come downstairs a few seconds earlier, he might have made it out of the door without being caught. He swallows, trying to remain calm as he turns slowly on the spot, his hand still on the knob, ready to dart out. His mum is leaning against the wall, staring at him. There’s a can of beer in her hand, half empty, and a smirk twisting her lips. Her half-lidded gaze drags over him, head to toe, absorbing the sight.

“Dressed pretty fancy for work, aren’t’cha?” She brings the can to her lips.

Dan looks at her feet, feeling hot and uncomfortable in this stupid outfit. He’d just about convinced himself, after hours of staring into his mirror, plucking and fussing at every item of clothing, every stray hair, that he looked okay. Now he wishes he could just rip everything off and crawl back into bed.

“I’m not going to work,” Dan mumbles.

“What’s that?” His mum asks loudly, stepping closer towards him. She wobbles unsteadily on her feet, indicating that this is not her first beer of the evening. “You slacking off, Daniel?”

Dan drags his eyes up to meet hers, sighing. “No, Mum. I’ve got the night off.”

“And why’s that?”

Dan hesitates, wondering if there’s a way he can get out of telling her. But she’s staring at the outfit he’s wearing again, ripping it apart with her sneer.

“It’s Prom,” Dan admits, quietly.

There’s a silence in the wake of his words that Dan doesn’t expect. When he looks up at his mother again, there’s a strange, distant expression on her face. A minute or so passes, and Dan wonders if he should maybe just leave. Then, she lowers the hand holding her can, letting it rest at her hip.

“That’s why you’ve got a shirt on,” she says, her voice unusually calm.

Dan nods, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of her mood.

“I bought you that shirt,” she says, staring. Dan shifts under her gaze, wriggling around in the stiff material. He’s still not used to the feel of it. “Did I?”

She looks up at him, her eyes wet and lost, searching his face for answers. Dan sighs, but nods at her. “Yeah, mum. You bought it for me. For the funeral.”

She nods, biting her lip. “Does it still fit?”

Dan shrugs, trying not to let her see how difficult the restrictive material makes this simple movement. “Well enough.”

“Can I get a picture of you, baby?” Her voice breaks a little.

Dan presses his lips together, cheeks burning. “I’m late,” he says, turning away. “I have to get going.”

“You takin’ a girl?”

Dan pauses, his hand still gripping the doorknob. He shakes his head, not sure if she’ll even see the movement.

“A boy?” It catches him off guard.

He doesn’t bother turning around. “What, you care about my love life now?”

There’s a split second where a look of distress splinters his mum’s face, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced by a hardened, weathered glare.

“Oh, fuck off then, I’m only tryin’a be nice,” she growls, taking another swig from her can. She walks back towards the kitchen, practically snarling. “Don’t pretend like you’re so goddamn innocent, Daniel. Don’t think I dunno what you get up to when you’re not in this house. Fucking slut you are, an’ the whole town knows it. No surprise you couldn’t get a date to your own Prom. Just this mornin’ I saw some skinny kid sneaking outta your door before the damn sun rose-”

The door slams shut behind Dan as he hurls himself out of it. His mum’s ranting is a muffle now, but it’s still going on, even as he walks, speedily as he can, down the path. His hands have curled into fists again, and he can feel how hard he’s digging his nails into his palm, but he can’t stop himself. It hurts, but he just keeps walking, vaguely aware of the cold wind whipping against his skin. Perhaps he should have brought a coat or something, but he can’t feel much, so it probably doesn’t matter.

He had the sense to snag Ricky’s keys off the counter earlier on, when his mum was still asleep, so he opens the car quickly and hops in. At the driver’s seat, he takes a minute to breathe, waiting for the vicious fangs of his mother’s words to drain of potency. He shoves it all down, word by word, compressing it in a dark corner of his mind. Then, he starts the engine. He goes through the routine of reversing, pulling onto the street, flicking on the headlights, mind blank. Before he knows it, he’s outside Phil’s door.

*

It’s a testament to how well Phil truly knows him that he asks if something’s the matter the second he catches sight of Dan’s face.

“Why? Can you think of any reason I’d be upset?” Dan bites out in response. That chokes any further questions from Phil’s mouth.

They pack themselves into the car, Phil being rigid and awkward, trying not to crease his suit.  

“I’ve never been in your brother’s car before,” Phil says, looking around. “It’s nice.”

“It’s a car,” Dan replies, turning the key in the ignition. “If it’s not good enough for your precious Amanda, you’ll have to find another way to Prom.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives Dan, small and apologetic, softens Dan’s hard exterior. He sighs heavily, pulling off the kerb. There’s a pause while Dan waits at the end of the road for a space to pull out.

“You look really nice,” Phil says softly.

The blunt blow of the unexpected compliment winds him. Dan stares resolutely out of the windscreen, his lips pressed together. Finally, after what feels like years suspended in this bizarre limbo of Ricky’s crappy car with his best friend and worst enemy, Dan snags a space between two cars, and pulls onto the main road.

“She lives-” Phil starts to say, but Dan cuts him off.

“I know where she lives.”

“Okay.” Phil’s voice is subdued, like a told-off toddler.

Amanda Jones lives quite close to Dan, as it turns out. He hadn’t realised this until recently, because he never sees her around, but then he doubts she’s often home. From Dan’s front door, it’s a few streets over, and under the bridge. PJ told him where exactly. He walked there once, a few days ago, disguising his  stalking session as a meandering walk.

He doesn’t know what he expected to find. Some marker on the house maybe that might indicate who lived there, and that she wasn’t the same as the residents of the neighbouring ones. That this girl had betrayed her upbringing to climb into bed with the enemy. But there was nothing. Amanda’s house is just the same as those either side of it. As Dan drives up to it now, he turns to look out of his window, trying to see anything he might have missed.

The houses on this side of the street are classic council houses – red brick, semi-detached, stuck to one another like they’ve been glued into their situation. A slim black railing separates the sliver of grass in front of Amanda’s house from the one next door. None of these ‘front gardens’ are particularly pleasant to look at, but Amanda’s in particular is overgrown and riddled with weeds. There’s a bike, cloaked in wet, coppery rust leant against the outside wall. Some toys – deflated footballs, a broken nerf gun, pieces of toy cars and tractors – litter the ground, rejected.

“Well,” Dan says. “Here we are. Want me to slay the dragon while you climb the tower?”

Phil lets out a snort of laughter. He doesn’t move. “I’m nervous.”

“I’d be weirded out if you weren’t,” Dan says.

For whatever reason, this seems to be enough to spur Phil onwards. He nods, and opens his door. Simply because he feels he should, Dan opens his own door, and joins him on the pavement. Dan side-eyes Phil, who appears to be stuck to the pavement. His hands are twitching.

“Go on, then,” Dan tells him, inclining his head towards her door.

Phil turns to him, eyes frantic. “Maybe this is a stupid idea.”

_Yes_ , Dan wants to say.  _Yes, it fucking is a stupid idea_.  _Why the fuck did you ever think it up?_   _Why can’t you be interested in boys, and me in particular? Why do you, of all people, have to have fallen into Amanda Jones’ ridiculous, pretty, doe-eyed trap?_

“Bit late for all that now,” Dan says instead, dropping his eyes to the floor.

Phil seems to be waiting for him to say something else, but at that moment, a burst of shouting erupts from inside the house, sounding like an argument. Phil looks up worriedly, dithering on the spot, clearly wondering whether to go and intervene. Instead, the front door flings itself open, and out flounces Amanda in a pink, shimmery dress. It falls down to her dainty ankles, the wafting material floating like wisps of candyfloss as she storms down the few steps from her house towards them, her Barbie heels click-clacking along the short stone path. She kicks a piece of toy tractor out of her way as she goes, sending it flying into one of the railings. When she gets to the two of them, she stops, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Crap, and she looks incredible.

It makes Dan want to curl up on the floor in front of her and weep. It might as well all be over now, he might as well surrender himself to a life of inconsequentiality, because he will never, in a thousand years, be able to compete with the stunning, ethereal, angelic, feminine beauty of Amanda fucking Jones. Her high cheekbones are dusted with an iridescent highlight, which glitters each time she turns her face. Her eyelids sparkle, dusted with varying shades of expertly blended pinks, matching her dress exactly. Her hair is naturally curly, but now it falls in perfect, loose ringlets, at once effortless and elegant, pinned in some places with tiny rose coloured gems. Dan had been joking before about the dragon, but if someone walked along and didn’t assume she is a Princess, he’d be amazed.

“Sorry about that,” Amanda says. Her long, fake eyelashes flutter as she rolls her eyes. “You know parents. Anyway, hi.”

She looks Phil up and down, smiling in approval. Dan doesn’t blame her; Phil looks like he was cut out of a Cosmo article on ‘Prom Night Looks For Your Man’.

“Hi,” Phil says, practically whispering.

There’s a blush on his cheeks at the sight of her. She smiles at him warmly, then her eyes slide towards Dan, and she frowns. “What’s this, then? Two dates for the price of one?”

For a moment, Phil doesn’t react. Then, his brain seems to catch up with his ears. He laughs, his blush deepening.

“Oh, no, um,” he glances at Dan, clearly struggling for an explanation. “Dan’s just- he’s, um-”

“I’m gonna drive you guys,” Dan says, saving him. “So you can drink and not worry about getting home.”

Phil nods, agreeing silently; he seems even more on edge than before. It’s agony to observe him in this bumbling state, knowing full well it’s Amanda’s immaculate silhouette that has him in such a tizzy.

“That’s… very good of you,” she says, sounding suspicious.

“That’s me. Such a good guy.” Dan sighs, opening the door to the driver’s side. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Before they can reply, Dan just slips into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Unfortunately, this is not fast enough to block out the sound of Phil, getting ahold of himself at last, leaning down to whisper in her ear:

“You look beautiful, Amanda.”

*

“So… I’ve been trying to play it off like it’s totally cool we’re not heading in the direction of the school for the past five minutes,” Amanda pipes up, breaking an awkward silence that has descended over the three of them. “But it occurred to me that I don’t really know you guys that well… so like, could you maybe tell me where we’re going?”

“Oh, sorry,” Phil says from beside her. “I told Dan to take us to get something to eat first. I mean…” Dan flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, watching Phil assess Amanda’s reaction. “If- if it’s okay with you.”

She shrugs, looking amused. “Sure, I could eat. What did you have in mind?”

Phil beams, shoulders slumping in relief. “Pizza.”

Dan’s gaze shifts to Amanda in the mirror, studying carefully. To his astonishment, she grins, her white teeth sparkling. “I love pizza.”

Phil leans forwards to poke Dan in the shoulder. “Told you.”

*

Dan has genuinely no idea why he agreed to do this. Later, when this horrendous night is over with, Dan will be stuffing skittles into his mouth to the tune of N-Sync’s  _Bye Bye Bye._ Hardly a worthy commiseration prize given that he will have had to spend hours watching a sickening display of heart-shattering cuteness featuring the boy he loves. With someone else. He drags on his cigarette, fingers shaking. It’s not even cold.

He found a pack of Ricky’s Marlboro Reds in the glovebox, but to his disappointment, discovered only one single cigarette left in the box. At least he can stop stinking of cherry for a while. He’s leant against the boot of the car, which isn’t an easy task considering how much it wobbles and shudders each time either Phil or Amanda shift the tiniest bit. They’ve spread their takeaway feast on the car bonnet, then perched up beside it, backs against the windshield as they share slices of pizza, talking about school, the town, their favourite music.

The night is so perfect it’s as if the Gods sculpted it for them. Dan raises his chin to look up at the sky, which is littered with hundreds of stars. They barely ever shine down on this bleak, grey town, but tonight they are bright and abundant. Perhaps Amanda just attracts them with her radiance. Or perhaps they came out to peer down at the ultimate third wheel, pathetically hiding just out of view.

Dan swallows, tasting nothing but ash on his tongue. He can hear them talking, still. The spot Dan has driven them to is a popular ‘make out’ destination. It’s only because it’s Prom night that there’s nobody here this evening. It occurs to Dan, belatedly, that Phil will probably, at some point this evening, kiss Amanda in front of him.

The thought is a lance of pain striking through his gut. It’s debilitating just to entertain it; for a good few seconds, Dan can’t so much as move his limbs. The cigarette between his fingers becomes heavy and leaden. It drips ash onto his hand, and he curses, flapping his hand at the pain. He leans his head back against the car, trying not to think of anything. Clearing his mind, however, only makes it all too easy to focus on the conversation happening a few feet away.

“So, got any other surprises in store for me before we actually get to the dance?” Amanda asks.

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be very good surprises, would they?”

Dan shakes his head at Phil’s lame attempt to seem enigmatic. He’s probably bursting to tell her a step-by-step itinerary of the night ahead; he’s not exactly the world champion at keeping his lively emotions inside.

“Ah,” Amanda says. “I see how it is.”

There’s a pause, and Dan relishes it, willing it to go on longer, to cross the border from an ordinary lull into a painfully awkward gap between their banter.

“It was nice of your friend to do this,” Amanda says unexpectedly. Dan flinches. “Really nice. What’s his name, again?”

The car jostles a little, as if Phil’s fidgeting. “Dan.”

“How’d you get him to give up his whole night to drive us around?” Amanda asks, clearly itching with poorly concealed curiosity. “Does he owe you some massive favour or something?”

The car jostles again, making Dan’s head knock against it. “Hah,” Phil chokes out, “no. Um, I just bribed him, y’know? Used his weakness. He loves Skittles.”

“Skittles?”

“Yeah,” Phil replies, chuckling. “He’s mad for them.”

There’s a pause, and Dan finds himself straining to hear the next words.

“You’re telling me…” Amanda says slowly. “Dan agreed to miss out on Prom, dress up all smart, drive us about, wait around for us to chat or whatever, drive us to school… all for some Skittles?”

Dan smirks to himself, though he knows none of this is the slightest bit funny. It is kind of ridiculous that anyone would actually believe such a ridiculous story. It seems absurd, suddenly, that Phil hasn’t caught on to the real reasoning behind Dan’s unending generosity.

Phil forces out another fake sounding laugh. “I guess he just really likes Skittles.”

“How many packs?”

“Four? Five, maybe? I can’t remember what we settled on.”

It was five, Dan thinks bitterly. And if Phil thinks he can forget the Skittles, he’s very wrong. Dan might be hopelessly in love with him, but he’s not doing this for absolutely nothing. There’s another pause, and Dan sighs, wondering for the millionth time what on earth he’s doing to himself, and why.

“Wow,” Amanda says. “Good friend.” 

“Yeah, he is,” Phil says unexpectedly. “I know he comes off all tough and moody, but he does care about me. He’s been really good to me recently. Listened to me prattle on about you, for one thing.”

Amanda laughs. “You talk to him about me?”

“Oh, all the time,” Phil says, sounding glad for the change of subject. Dan fumbles for his phone, trying to distract himself. “I talk his ear off, actually,” Phil says. “He’s probably sick of it. Actually, I know he’s sick of it.”

“Poor Dan,” Amanda jokes.

Dan rolls his eyes, nodding silently.  _Poor Dan, indeed_.

“Yeah,” Phil laughs. “I should stop annoying him about it. I mean, he tends to look annoyed sort of permanently, but I can always tell when he’s actually annoyed because he gets this little jumpy twitch in his jaw right here, like he’s clenching his teeth too hard.”

Baffled, Dan unclenches his jaw, rubbing it with one hand.

“You must annoy him a lot, to notice something like that,” Amanda says, teasingly.

Though Dan would hate to admit it aloud, Amanda’s actually pretty funny. She sounds easy to talk to, which is hard to find in anyone, let alone one of the Elite crew.

“Probably,” Phil agrees, chuckling. “But I’ve also studied his face a lot, so I know a lot of his quirks.”

“Um, what?”

Dan facepalms mentally, wondering if Phil ever actually rehearses what he’s about to say before letting the words spill off his tongue.

“Oh, I mean I draw him a lot,” Phil says, laughing. Amanda titters politely, but it sounds confused. “I use him for practise because we hang out all the time. He doesn’t usually mind, I don’t think.”

“You draw?” Amanda asks, and Dan frowns.

She doesn’t even know he’s an artist. She can’t care about him much to not have learned his one hobby.

“Yeah!” Phil exclaims happily, not seeming to care. “That’s what I want to do. Well, art anyway. I draw and paint. I like drawing people, but I’m bad at keeping to the rules. That’s what my teacher says. I tend to want to make them into birds or give them antennae or rainbow skin or something. So, I make myself practise every day at just drawing people normally. Usually it’s a pain, but I don’t mind drawing Dan for some reason. Maybe it’s because I know him so well. I could probably draw him blindfolded at this point.”

A heat creeps along Dan’s cheeks. It’s ridiculous to feel so pleased about something so obviously innocent. His place in Phil’s life is essentially as his mannequin. Yet somehow, it’s one of his proudest achievements.

“That’s sweet,” Amanda says. “You two must be very close.”

“I guess,” Phil replies. “Um, would you excuse me a sec? All this soda is going right through me.”

Amanda bursts into laughter. “Are you gonna pee in the hedge?”

Phil just laughs along with her. “Don’t see a convenient port-a-loo.”

“You’re a brave man,” Amanda says.

The car jostles, and then the tramp of Phil’s footsteps indicates his wander off into the wilderness. Dan pokes his head around the side of the car just in time to see his vague silhouette ducking into a thicket of branches a few meters away.

Dan pushes off the car then, pacing a few steps away to smoke in silence. A few moments of peace go by, and then he gets the uncanny sense that someone is closely observing him. He spins around to find Amanda stood a foot away, her glittery eyes trained on him.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t mean it. “Is the smoke bothering you?”

“Smoking will kill you,” she says, then steps towards him and plucks the cigarette from his fingers. “Or so they tell us.” 

She lifts it to her lips and takes a long, deep drag, eyes fluttering. In the milky moonlight, the sparkles refract, sending shimmery pearls rippling over the bracken nearby. 

Dan watches all of this in abject shock. Only a minute ago he’d have bet good money on the fact that Amanda Jones has never so much as sucked on Hardy’s vape stick. 

“Maybe I don’t wanna live that long,” Dan says, still wide-eyed as she hands the cigarette back to him. 

“Ooh,” Amanda says with a smirk. “Edgy.”

Despite himself, Dan feels his own mouth twitching. “Did you want something?” 

“Yeah. I wanna know why you’re doing this.”

“Smoking? Well, I need some sort of vice to get through this. And I don’t have any coke to hand.”

Her features are utterly perfect, symmetrical and dainty. Even in the low evening light, she is an angel. “I mean the driving.” 

“I’m his mate,” Dan says, turning from her; he can’t look at something so beautiful anymore. It’s almost painful. “I’m doing him a favour.”

“Pretty big favour,” Amanda says. She holds out her hand for the cigarette again. Dan thinks about refusing her, but it would only make things awkward. He hands it to her carefully, and she takes a drag, sighing in pleasure. When their eyes meet, she says: “Are you in love with him?”

“What?” Dan almost drops the cigarette as she passes it. His heart pumps wildly. “Of course not.”

Amanda shrugs, smoothing down her long skirt. “Hey, my boyfriend of two years wouldn’t even open the car door for me. And look what you’re doing for your ‘mate’ for a few packs of Skittles.”

Dan scowls. “Maybe that’s more to do with your choice of boyfriend.”

Amanda fixes him with that laser stare again. There’s a glimmer of perpetual amusement in it, as though she sees something in Dan’s very essence that is laughable. It sets Dan’s teeth on edge.

“You don’t like me,” Amanda surmises, one eyebrow arching.

For a moment, Dan doesn’t know how to respond. If he verbalises his hatred, and all the reasons behind it, Phil will be angry.

“We’re not gonna be best buds, let’s put it that way,” Dan says.

“You don’t think I’m good enough for Phil, is that it?”

Dan rubs his eyes, exhausted by the evening already. He didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep last night. “Nobody is.”

“Except you?” Amanda smiles at the withering glance he gives in response. “Okay, fine. But Dan,” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Phil is still out of sight. “We’re not that different, you know.”

The snort of laughter is so abrupt that it makes Amanda jump a little. “Right, yeah. We’re practically twins. Shall we get a blood test?”

She maintains her calm stare. “Think about it. We’re both from broken homes. Grew up on the wrong side of the tracks with families that don’t give a shit.”

“You, me and millions of other people all share that lovely background,” Dan says.

“Yes, true. But there’s more, isn’t there?” Amanda leans against the car, craning her neck towards the night sky. “We deal with our problems in the same way.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I know the rumours about you,” she says. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one using my looks to get into places I don’t belong.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? Dan, if I wasn’t pretty and skinny, I’d have no chance. I’d be like you, stuck here with no options. But I saw the opportunity to live a better life and I took it.” Amanda shrugs. Her eyes are hooded, sad. “I know Hardy’s a cheating dirtbag. I’m not blind. But being with him gets me the  _dolce vita_. And yes, it’s superficial and elitist and despicable. Trust me, I hate myself enough for the both of us. But it’s better than the alternative.”

“If you really feel like that, then why are you here?” Dan spits. “Phil can’t take you to glamorous yacht parties or whatever bullshit you do with Jenns.”

Amanda smiles sadly, looking to her shoes. “I know that. I guess I just wanted a taste of this. To know what I’m missing. To know what it would be like if I’d been stronger, said no to Hardy’s advances, not taken the diamonds and the dresses. If I’d found myself a nice, normal boy, even if he had to save for three months and bribe his best friend to show me one fun night.”

“I don’t appreciate people using my friends,” Dan tells her, coldly.

“Oh, and he’s not using me?” Amanda rolls her eyes. “He doesn’t even know me, Dan. We’ve spoken twice before tonight. He tells himself he wants me because I’m pretty, and coveted. Quite clearly, he can’t see five feet in front of his nose to what he really wants.”

Dan frowns. “What are you getting at?”

It doesn’t look likely that Amanda is going to clarify her strange statement, but as it turns out, she doesn’t get the chance. Phil walks over, rubbing the hand sanitizer he’d brought along into his palms. As he approaches them, his expression drops into wariness.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, eyes flicking between Dan and Amanda. “Everything okay?”

“Whatever,” Dan says, then promptly stalks back to the driver’s seat. He brushes past Phil, who shoots him a ‘what’s going on’ look, but Dan ignores him, climbing into the driver’s seat without a word. Five minutes later, after collecting the pizza boxes and blankets from the bonnet of the car, Phil and Amanda get into the back, all smiles and chatter again.

“Next stop school please, driver,” Phil says cheerily. If he thinks Dan is going to find his pretence that Dan’s an actual chauffeur for this awful event cute or charming, he is very much mistaken. “Did you want some pizza, Dan? There’s a few slices left.”

“How considerate,” Dan almost snarls. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He turns the key in the ignition and backs the car out of the lot. It’s fourteen miles to the school from here, and it takes ten of those for Dan’s tight knuckles to un-whiten from where they’re gripped around the wheel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Eight coming next Tuesday at 8pm GMT


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s it gonna cost me to take you home?” A rough, gravelly voice says into Dan’s ear.
> 
> It’s a little surprising Dan is able to pull anyone in the state he’s in. Damaged goods are apparently not a dealbreaker for the dudes in here. A rush of something blissful and heady threads itself through Dan’s body, making him wonder what exactly it was that he swallowed half an hour ago, compressed into that tiny pill. He welcomes the rush of pleasure even so, closing his aching eyes as he allows the drug to sweep away the pain.
> 
> He leans forwards, lips to the guy’s ear, and says: “What’ve you got?”

The school parking lot is rammed with limousines and Rolls Royce’s. Dan idles the car in a queue for about ten minutes waiting for one particularly obnoxious pink limo to do a seventy-point turn in an attempt to get out of the exit again. Amanda coos over the colour of the awful car, nose pressed almost to the glass, and Phil gently teases her for being a stereotype. **  
**

She rolls her eyes and swats him in the shoulder. “Girls are allowed to like pink.”

Phil laughs and pokes her in the side, making her smile. Dan watches the fond exchange in the rearview mirror, lips pressed together. Eventually, he finds a parking space, though it’s a tight squeeze between the hundreds of cars that have shown up here tonight. He switches off the engine, blank eyes staring out of the windscreen at the building in front of him. They’re about half an hour late, so the parking lot is pretty much deserted – everyone is already inside. The back door of the car opens, and Amanda begins climbing out, complaining and laughing at once about how difficult it is to elegantly clamber out of a car in a big dress and heels. Dan’s fingertips tingle. He’s already mentally projecting to the next available smoking opportunity.

Phil leans forwards then, his chin resting on the back of Dan’s seat. “You’re gonna come in, right?”

Dan is silent for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking I might wait out here.”

“Please come in,” Phil says. “I don’t want to go to Prom without my best friend.”

Venom sears Dan’s throat, he swallows it down but it stings. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Phil looks desperate, as though he’s begging Dan not to push it. Luckily for him, Amanda knocks on the glass of the back window, making a face that says ‘what’s the hold up?’.

Phil gives him one last pleading look, and Dan’s resolve breaks. Reluctantly, he sighs, and unplugs his seatbelt.

* * *

 

Prom is everything Dan expected, and worse. The hall is crammed with his peers, each of them decked out in a taffeta frock, or a cheap rented suit – with the exception of the Elites, of course, all of whom wear tight designer dresses, or tailored tuxedos.

The Elites have commandeered a table near the back, and are lounging around it holding plastic stem glasses of what appears to be punch, but Dan suspects is not. There’s a stage in the hall, on which a marginally terrible band is playing a mashup of chart hits, the majority of which Dan only knows because Louise forces him to have Radio One playing in the café at all hours.

There are paper chains, and a glitterball, and crêpe-papered tables holding punch bowls and bowls of crisps. It’s the kind of Prom that Dan has seen in a dozen American high school movies, which isn’t that surprising, as the Prom-planning committee’s inspiration was  _Pretty In Pink_.

Everyone’s attention is stolen by the entrance of Phil with Amanda Jones on his arm. Hardy, over at the Elite table, glares across the room at them, sour-faced. He’s wearing a white tuxedo, as if he could get any more douchey, and seems to have brought a different Elite girl as his date, though he doesn’t appear to be paying too much attention to her.

Dan can’t imagine that Amanda would be welcomed if she tried to go over to her usual possy, but she doesn’t so much as look their direction. Phil, looking slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of near everyone in the room, leads Amanda through the crowd towards the punch table. Dan follows solemnly behind them; distracted as they are by the scandalous date of the century, nobody pays him any attention at all.

*

“This punch tastes like ass,” Dan says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, they made me use Diet lemonade,” Lee says. “It’s gross.”

If Dan asked Lee why he’d chosen to volunteer at the Sixth Form Prom, doling out ladlefuls of disgusting punch to a load of teenagers that are sneaking vodka into it anyway, he’d probably say that he had nothing better to do with his Friday night, or that he came to watch everyone be ‘tragic’. In reality, he is almost definitely here to hang around Dan. In another timeline, Dan might find this annoying, but tonight he’s glad of the company.

The punch table is on the periphery of the dancefloor; in the centre, a few brave couples have already started vaguely swaying together to the cacophony of noise the band is making. One of those couples are Phil and Amanda.

Dan would have put good money on the fact that Phil cannot dance, and he’d have won the bet. Phil is tall, and clumsy, with two left feet and a tendency to not know where to place his hands. Amanda seems to find this utter incompetence on his part incredibly endearing, and keeps laughing every time Phil steps on her pointed shoes.

The moment they began, she picked up Phil’s hands and placed them straight on her hips, then slung hers around his neck, just as Dan said she would. They’re awkward, and due to their height difference the movements are far from graceful, but they’re having fun, apparently, if their laughter is anything to go by.

“Got a cold?” Lee asks, handing Dan a napkin.

Dan sniffs for the hundredth time, shrugging, and takes it from him. “Can we get out of here? Go for a smoke or something?”

“I got something even better,” Lee says with a grin.

He reaches discreetly into the pocket of his sweatpants, and exposes the tip of a flask. He tucks it away quickly before any of the patrolling teachers notice.

“You make yourself useful, I’ll give you that,” Dan says, then inclines his head, and starts to make his way over to the hall doors.

*

“Geez, that’s a bit full on,” Lee says, staring into Amanda’s painted face. The canvas is bigger than Dan remembers it being. “What’s he planning on doing with it?”

“He’s gonna gift it to her, apparently,” Dan replies. 

He’s already taken the flask from Lee, and is sipping it quietly, perched up on a desk. Phil’s left a few paintbrushes and dried up palettes scattered about the place, but the usual vibrancy he brings to the art studio is missing. Now, the room seems bereft, dark.

“Weird,” Lee says, leaning close to peer into Amanda’s vacant brown eyes.

Dan takes another sip of what tastes vaguely like whiskey, but is probably more likely to be a mixture of a few spirits Lee swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet in order to avoid being caught.

“I want a cigarette. Let’s sit behind here,” Dan says, walking around to the back of a big stack of blank canvases, propped against a desk. In the tight space behind them, he and Lee will be impossible to see from the door if a teacher comes snooping. Lee follows him obediently, squatting down in the small nook. Dan offers him the flask while he digs around for his pack of cigarettes, but Lee refuses.

“You look like you need it more, mate.”

Dan wants to call him out on this statement, argue and demand he explain himself, but he thinks better of it. So what if his misery is written all over his face? Lee is too up his ass to do anything with the information that Dan might be crushing on Phil, if he has indeed picked up on it. Dan puts the flask between his knees and pulls two cigarettes out of his rapidly depleting pack of Djarums.

“Here,” Dan says, not giving Lee a chance to refuse. He hands one of the cigarettes over, and pulls out a lighter. The first drag is glorious. A thick rush of nicotine sluices through Dan from head to fingertips. Lee lights his up after a moment, too, then promptly splutters, grimacing.

He puts it straight out again. “Eugh, what the fuck’s that? All perfumey.”

Dan snorts with laughter, about to explain that they’re flavoured, but right then, voices permeate the quiet air, right outside the door. Dan looks forlornly at his cigarette, which he’s only just begun. He takes another deep drag, then one more, breathing it out in a long rush just as the door opens. Then he stubs it out on the tiled floor.

“…you think you could do a better job of it?”

Dan’s heart plummets straight through his ribcage, landing on the floor with a pathetic ‘plop’. He imagines he can see it pulsating weakly on the tile beside his the ashes of his cigarette. It’s Amanda’s voice. Which means…

“Hey, maybe that’s my calling,” Phil says. “I could be the next big thing in the cover band world.”

“I do agree that you couldn’t be any worse than that lot,” Amanda agrees. “But I guess we can’t be too critical- what the… oh my God.”

Her voice falls away, leaving only the stagnant silence of this room in its wake. A few seconds pass, and then there’s the sound of her kitten heels tritting slowly across the floor. She’s approaching the canvas, on the other side of where Dan and Lee hide. The door closes, and Dan hears Phil moving cautiously further into the studio.

“It’s difficult to capture you,” Phil says; Dan can  _feel_  the nerves in his best friend’s voice. “I wanted to do something big, but there’s so much about you I didn’t manage to get right-”

“Phil,” Amanda interrupts. Her voice is choked. Dan swallows down a gulp of tobacco flavoured saliva. “I’ve never seen anything like this. You painted this? By hand?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “For you.”

“I don’t understand,” Amanda says; yep, she’s definitely choking back tears. Desperate to escape, Dan looks around himself for a possible exit, but without Amanda and Phil seeing him, there’s no choice but to just sit here and listen. He brings his knuckles up to bite at them. “Why would you do this for me?”

“There’s more,” Phil says, and  _oh God_ , Dan had almost forgotten.

Eyes smarting, Dan hears the rustle of Phil digging around in his suit pocket. Phil steps forward, closing the gap between he and the girl of his dreams. A moment passes, and then she gasps.

“Oh my God, Phil I can’t… you shouldn’t have-”

“Just let me explain,” Phil says. Amanda stays quiet. “I know you spend every day wishing you were born differently, watching your friends glide through life with ease just because they have money. I know it makes you feel inferior to them. It shouldn’t, because you’re perfect. That’s why I wanted to paint you, to show you that to me, at least, you’re flawless.”

Dan shifts quietly. The floor is hardening beneath him, making it impossible to stay still. He catches Lee watching him, fingers covering his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet.  _It doesn’t matter_ , he wants to shout at Lee,  _they’d never notice us. Even if we screamed_.

Dan wants to put his fingers in his ears to block it out, but Lee might ask him why later, and Dan can’t handle it. So he just grits his teeth and tells himself it won’t last forever, and that later he can deal with the pain. He remembers, belatedly, the flask laying in his lap, so unscrews the cap and pours a great deal of whatever is inside into his mouth. It tastes disgusting, but then he has another swig, and it goes down a little easier.

“I bought you these because you deserve them,” Phil tells Amanda then, and Dan knows he must be handing her the earrings. Those beautiful black pearls on silver stems. “I want you to feel like you ought to feel. I want you to feel as precious as I see you every day.”

“It’s too much,” Amanda says, weakly. “I can’t accept them.”

“Please take them,” Phil says. “I want to show you what you’re worth.”

A quiet falls, and all Dan can hear is vague rustling. Lee is staring at him now, his eyes feel like they’re boring into his skull. It might be something to do with the tear that’s just fallen down Dan’s cheek.

“How do they look?” Amanda says after a while.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil doesn’t respond straight away. Dan kind of wants to peer his head over the canvases and see for himself. Maybe they really do look hideous on her; Dan had always thought they weren’t really her usual style.

“Yeah,” Phil says then, though his voice is not at all convincing. “Really nice.”

 _Tip-tap_ go Amanda’s shoes as she closes the distance between them. Dan can’t help it, he shifts again, bum numbed by the horrible hard tile. As he moves, he realises there’s a slit between two canvases, allowing him just enough space to see through if he leans awkwardly. In the tiny gap, he watches, heart tearing itself down the middle, as Amanda’s hand rests on Phil’s chin, and she tiptoes up to press a kiss to his lips.

At this point, the tears are too insistent to try and hold back. Lee can think what he wants. Dan sips more of the flask, and sinks back to his former position, hating himself for torturing his own heart this way.

“Can you smell cherry?” Amanda asks then, and Dan freezes. He turns to Lee, wide-eyed.

Like they’re connected, Dan can feel it in his chest as the realisation floods over Phil. He hears the guilt in his silence, and aches from it. Phil will sweep his gaze over the room, will note the strange wall of canvases and know at once what they hide. He will know,  _of course he will know_ , and now he will pretend he doesn’t.

“N-no,” Phil says, just like Dan knew he would. There’s a slit in his voice, like it’s about to crack, to splinter into bits. “I can’t smell anything. Come on, let’s go back to the dance.”

*

“Dan,” Lee says for maybe the fifth time. “Dan, are you alright?”

The jumble of art supplies in front of Dan seems to be moving. The supplies swirl about randomly, paint brushes blending into charcoals, oil pastels bleeding into one another, creating a brown sludge.

“ ‘m fine,” Dan gets out. He tries to drain the last of the flask, but finds that it’s somehow already empty. He turns to Lee, eyes blurred from the film of moisture gathered in his ducts. “Hey,” he slurs, pushing the empty flask at him. “You’re sober, right?”

Warily, Lee nods.

Dan digs in his trouser pocket for Ricky’s car keys. “I need a favour.”

*

The bright lights and jarring, staticky noise coming from the ancient speakers is a lot worse now that Dan’s mind is thickened with alcohol. He pushes through seemingly hoards of people, some of whom grunt and shout things at him, indignant. These people, his classmates, seem alien to him, their faces unrecognisable, distorted and strange.

He’s trying to find the exit, but ends up at the back of the room somehow, with all the tables. Amanda and Phil are sat at one, just the two of them, sharing a glass of punch, their cheeks rosy with happiness. Amanda’s earlobes are glistening with two black pearls.

Just as a wash of bile crawls up Dan’s throat, something happens. It shatters the warping, undulating bubble of Dan’s drunken state, and everything clatters into clarity just as Hardy Jenns’ fist slams down in front of Phil, shaking the table. Phil leaps to his feet, stricken, and Hardy starts to yell.

“...showing up here with my girl on your arm! Who the fuck d’you think you are, you little shitbox, I’m gonna punch your lights out!”

Dan watches in alarm, a tiny  _‘no’_  slipping from his lips. He surges forwards, straight through a gaggle of girls on the periphery of the dance floor, and lunges. Hardy’s fist draws back, his teeth bared into a snarl as he pulls his weight into the incoming punch. He swings, fast, but Dan is faster. Phil falls to the floor with how hard Dan barrels into him, but it doesn’t matter, because Hardy’s fist misses him by centimetres, and connects with the bone of Dan’s right cheek instead. It makes a dull ‘thwack’, and Dan is thrown backwards by the force of it.

The alcohol numbs the pain, but it throbs unbearably even so. He straightens up, clutching his face and swearing loudly. Phil, on the floor still, has his mouth open in shock.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you again,” Hardy growls. There’s a slur to his voice too; Dan clearly isn’t the only one imbibing this evening. “Thought I told you to tell your boyfriend to leave my girl alone!” 

Dan jabs a finger at Hardy, breathing hard through the pain. “Get away from him, Hardy.” 

The corner of Hardy’s mouth curls into a nasty sneer. “Or what?” 

For a moment, Dan just glares at him. He notices Phil struggling to sit up in the periphery of his vision, and is momentarily distracted. He turns, noting the terror on Phil’s face. 

“Dan, just leave it,” Phil garbles, urgently. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” 

“Yeah, whore,” Hardy says, drawing Dan’s attention again. He’s still got that smug, shit-eating smirk on his face. Dan’s fist begins to curl. Oh, he’s been aching for a release, and this is all too perfectly set up to resist. “Why don’t you leave it? Go back to whatever back room you crawled out of, wait for the next John to pull down his fly for you.” 

“Dan,” Phil says, from somewhere seemingly far away. “Dan, ignore him.” 

Drunkenly, Dan turns to Phil for a split second. He shoots him a stupid grin, allowing the rush of white heat and anger to flood him, and then lunges forwards, his own fist connecting with Hardy’s jaw.

“Dan!” Phil calls out. The concern in his voice is blissful. It slips into Dan’s bloodstream, giving him the energy to land a second punch on Hardy’s stupid forehead. This time, it knocks him backwards, and he crashes onto the table behind him. 

“Dan, stop!” Phil’s voice is shrill.

“Get the fuck off me you little cunt,” Hardy shouts, as Dan grabs him by the lapels of his idiotic white suit, slamming him down against the table he’s sprawled on, so the back of his skull thunks against it. Amanda is still sitting down, watching with wide-eyes; Dan doesn’t spare her a glance. He’s seething, livid, and Hardy’s stupid, ignorant face suddenly represents every reason why. 

Dan knows he doesn’t look like he could lift a fruitfly, but he’s had to toughen up, living where he does. He’s stronger than anyone he knows his age, which people don’t expect. By the look on Hardy’s face, he’s no exception. Dan slaps Hardy sharp across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark come morning. They’ve gathered a crowd now, so it won’t be long until a teacher notices and comes over to break them up. So, Dan brings his face close to Hardy’s, close enough that the dickhead should be able to smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Amanda is not your girl,” Dan hisses. “She can do whatever she wants. And mercifully, that’s not you anymore.”

“Get off me!” There’s something urgent and worried in Hardy’s tone. Dan’s half on top of him now, and it seems to be making Hardy even more furious. Dan’s having to exert a lot of energy just pinning him here. “Get the fuck off me you fag fuck!” 

And then, it all becomes painfully clear. 

The anger recedes a little as Dan’s knee comes into contact with a rather obvious bulge. His eyebrows lift, and Hardy’s terror is palpable. Dan sends him a little ‘gotcha’ smile. 

He leans forwards, feeling Hardy go limp, sensing the defeat. “Don’t think you and I will be having a problem anymore, do you?”

Hardy doesn’t respond at first, so Dan pushes his knee sharply into Hardy’s crotch, and he shakes his head quickly. “Please move,” Hardy begs. “I’ll back off, I swear. Just don’t say anything.” 

“Swear to me you’ll leave him alone,” Dan says, knee still jammed up against Hardy’s erection. 

“I swear, fuck.” 

“And Amanda.”

“Fine, fine,” Hardy says hurriedly. 

“If you tell your Dad, and get me fired,” Dan says. “I will tell everyone about what I felt here tonight.” 

Hardy nods inn understanding, cheeks aflame. Dan releases him then, and wipes his hands on his shirt in disgust. Hardy doesn’t move for a minute. There’s a wide, stunned look in his eyes, as though he’s not sure of his next move. He casts a quick, frightened gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of every onlooker, and then jumps up, fleeing to the hall doors.

Bizarrely, just as Dan turns to go, it’s Amanda’s gaze that he catches. She’s staring at him wonderingly, calmly, despite having seen him beat up and threaten her ex moments ago. In her right thumb and forefinger, she twiddles one of her earrings. Dan turns from her then, nauseated, eye and cheek throbbing, and pushes back into the crowd. He can see the glowing exit sign now, and the crowds seem all too happy to part as he moves towards it. He doesn’t care about these people anymore, nor did he ever. So they’ve finally seen just what happens when somebody pisses off the scary emo kid just a little too much. Let them be scared of him. Maybe it’ll make them leave him alone.

He’s almost at the door, almost free from this horrendous night, when something catches his arm. When Dan turns to see who is stopping him, he has to stop himself from throwing more punches.

“Where are you going?” Phil asks; his eyes are red. Dan tastes blood. “You’re hurt.”

Dan licks the corner of his mouth. His lip ring is missing, and there’s blood pooled there. It must have ripped out during the fight. He wipes the blood with the back of his hand, hardly caring.

“I’m goin’ home,” Dan says, dejected. The alcohol in his system has swooped back into play, and he feels drunk again, the adrenaline of the pain and violence gone. “I’ve given Lee th’keys t’Ricky’s car. He agreed to drive you and Amanda back.”

“Don’t go,” Phil begs him. He seems desperate, and Dan cannot fathom why. “Please, just stay for a while, we can talk, I can get you some ice-”

Dan pulls free of Phil’s grip, annoyed. “If y’wanted t’talk t’me, y’could’ve this morning. Now’m tired, and drunk, and’m leaving.”

“Why did you let Hardy punch you?” Phil’s blue eyes are deep and watery. Dan could throw anchors into them, made of longing, and hurt, and misery, but they’d never reach the bottoms - they’re too deep. “Why did you push me out of the way?”

The question, to Dan, is absurd. “B’cause he was going to hurt you.”

“So?”

“So,” Dan whispers. He tastes blood again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“You matter,” Phil whispers back. “You matter to me.”

Dan snorts in derision, not bothering to reply. Instead, he turns away, and pushes through the fire exit, out into the cold night beyond.

*

The vodka in Dan’s blood is making the dense, humid air shimmer. He’s wrapped in someone’s arms, grinding on someone’s thigh. There’s a sultry, pulsating beat all around him. He thinks maybe, before, there was a finger in his mouth, a small blue pill pressed onto his tongue. Dark grey eyes are locked on his, and as they move to the music, Dan can feel warmth, sweat, hands on his hips.

He wishes he were in bed, not here, with the covers pulled over him, and a pillow to softly soak up the tears. But going home would mean facing Ricky, and perhaps getting another punch thrown at him for kicks. Dan doesn’t even have his brother’s car anymore. Facing Ricky’s wrath without it would be suicidal. The right side of his face throbs and aches. It’s bruised badly, Dan saw it in Ozone’s cracked bathroom mirror. His eye is swollen, making it hard to see. 

“What’s it gonna cost me to take you home?” A rough, gravelly voice says into Dan’s ear.

It’s a little surprising Dan is able to pull anyone in the state he’s in. Damaged goods are apparently not a dealbreaker for the dudes in here. A rush of something blissful and heady threads itself through Dan’s body, making him wonder what exactly it was that he swallowed half an hour ago, compressed into that tiny pill. He welcomes the rush of pleasure even so, closing his aching eyes as he allows the drug to sweep away the pain.

He leans forwards, lips to the guy’s ear, and says: “What’ve you got?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I care! I care about you.” Phil tries to reach out and touch him, but Dan is quick to move out of his path. “That’s why I’m here,” Phil persists, “because I’m worried. Because I want to make sure you’re okay-”
> 
> Dan steps closer to him, and whatever Phil sees in his face makes his sentence fall away. “No. If you cared about me, you wouldn’t’ve stuck your hand down my pants and then pretended it never happened. You wouldn’t’ve coerced me into hauling your ass around town all night so you could get with some other girl.”

Phil paces up Dan’s driveway slowly, the car keys digging into his palm. He’s sweating with nerves already, making his t-shirt cling to his shoulders. It’s only a few degrees outside, but he’s warm through and through. He glances behind him to check once again that the car looks unscathed.

He takes a moment to psych himself up, then knocks on the flaking wooden pane. There’s a muffled woman’s voice yelling from inside, telling someone to ‘get the bloody door’. Nobody answers her. Then, footsteps stomping, and the door is wrenched open, revealing a woman, her straw-blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a onesie, pushed down so it’s bunched around her hips, and a ‘Blondie’ t-shirt. At first, Phil assumes she must be a lodger, or a guest, but then he catches sight of her chocolate brown eyes, and the chestnut colour of her roots.

“Hi,” says Phil. “Are you Dan’s mum?”

“Unfortunately,” she says, looking Phil up and down. “Who’re you?”

To begin with, Phil had found it strange that he’d never met Dan’s mum, considering the amount of times he visited Dan’s house. Dan never liked bringing him over, always preferring to meet up elsewhere, or at Phil’s, but he couldn’t always make an excuse. Each time Phil managed to weasel his way into Dan’s place, his mum was nowhere to be seen. Phil learned, eventually, after pressing Dan, that his mum worked night shifts in a care home, meaning she slept in the day. He notes the dark, purpling circles underneath her eyes now, and swallows guiltily.

“Sorry,” Phil says. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I’m Dan’s friend. Is he here?”

She frowns. “Dan’s friend? He’s never had no friends come round before.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say. She sighs, wiping a hand across her exhausted face. “Look, I dunno where he is. Haven’t seen him since-” She stops, latching onto something in the distance, beyond Phil. “Bloody hell, is that Ricky’s car? Did you bring that here?”

“Um, yes,” Phil says, nervously. He unfurls his fist, revealing the keys and holding them out to her. “I’m returning it.”

“Returning it from when you stole it?” She’s quick to anger, Phil realises. “You’ve no idea what I’ve had to put up with, Ricky’s been ranting and smashing shit. Dan thinks he can do whatever he likes, treating this place like a hotel- I should throw him out for this.” She snatches the keys from Phil, face growing crimson. “And you’re the accomplice, are you? Fuck’s sake, and he’s sent you here instead of facing up to me himself, is that it?”

“Actually,” Phil says softly. “I haven’t seen him since last night. He left Prom early. I don’t know where he went. A friend drove me home.”

“Well, when you see him you can let him know that he can deal with his brother when he shows up here,” Dan’s mum says with a snarl. “If he thinks I’m gonna hold Ricky off, he’s got another thing coming.”

Phil frowns, shifting from foot to foot as he struggles for a response. She doesn’t seem to care that Dan hasn’t been heard from all night, and it’s baffling to Phil. He imagines his own mother in the same situation - she’d be frantic with worry. He senses Dan’s mum staring at him, as though she’s puzzling over something. He meets her quizzical eye, self-conscious.

“Oi, haven’t I seen you before?”

“I don’t think so.”

She stares a while longer. “Hang on, you’re the little rat I saw sneakin’ out of Dan’s room the night before last.”

Phil flushes bright red, a load of gibberish beginning to spill out. He’d thought nobody had caught that shameful moment.

“You his boyfriend? Or just a quick shag?”

Phil’s cheeks burn. “We- we’re just friends.”

She snorts, then reaches into her pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “I know a walk of shame when I see one, love.” She shoves the cigarette between her lips. The movement is startlingly similar to how Dan does it. “Don’t blame you. That boy’s a fuckin’ nightmare.”

The obvious disdain rips through the soft, supple skin of Phil’s heart. Hearing Dan’s own mother talking about him this way is awful. If this is what Dan has to endure on a daily basis, it’s no wonder he hates being at home. Phil had always assumed that it was more to do with Ricky, but having this on top must make it near unbearable for him. It makes Phil want to wrap Dan in his arms, to yank him out of this house, and keep him safe somewhere, perhaps sat at the stool of his piano that Dan quietly loves so much. Or in Phil’s bed, dressed in a stupid big t-shirt, sipping hot chocolate his mum makes. The guilt surges up inside Phil’s body, choking him from the inside out. What scum he is, for adding to Dan’s pain.

“He’s fucking awesome, actually,” Phil finds himself blurting out, voice louder than he initially intends. “I’m lucky to be his friend, let alone anything else. You should be grateful Dan turned out as selfless, and intelligent, and sensitive as he is. Because he obviously doesn’t owe anything to you.”

He sees the furious retort brewing in Dan’s mum’s throat, but he doesn’t wait around for it. He storms away, blood roaring in his ears, drowning out whatever she might be yelling after him. It only occurs to Phil as he’s halfway back to his own house, that he potentially just made it even more difficult for Dan to return home.

*

Three nights after Prom, and Dan hasn’t slept in his own bed once. He’s stopped home briefly, during the hours he knew his mum and Ricky would be out or asleep, to gather a load of belongings – changes of underwear, a jacket he’d forgotten to take on Prom night, a toothbrush, etc. To his mild intrigue, he noticed that Ricky’s car had been returned to the driveway. Lee must have dropped it back there, after dropping Phil and Amanda home. At least Dan won’t have to track it down.  

The Ozone band is shit tonight. Maybe the out of tune, dissonant noise blaring out of the speakers is the fault of the tone-deaf bassist on stage. More likely, it’s due to the fact that the sound technician currently has his tongue down Dan’s throat. He’s not that attractive, but Sam is easy, and lusts after Dan like a bloodhound. Right now, all Dan wants to feel are grabby, insistent hands and the clack of teeth against his. He needs violent distraction. Sam is all too happy to supply it.

It’s a shame he tastes so vile. Like the cinnamon vape stick constantly stuck between his lips, and warm, ashy beer. Dan pulls back once he can no longer stand it, and shoves Sam’s head into the crook of his neck.

“Bite me if you want,” he mutters, swigging the beer Sam has left on the sound desk. “I don’t give a shit.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Sam sinks his teeth in. Dan shuts his eyes as the pain lances through him, picturing the blood vessels bursting, purpling his skin, obscuring the mark that Phil left, that refuses to fade, covering it with something darker, worse. 

And then, in an instant, Sam is being wrenched off him, pulled back with such force that Dan nearly slips off the desk entirely. Sam yelps, not expecting it, and falls flat on his ass. Bleary and vaguely nauseous, Dan fixates on whoever it is that has so rudely interrupted them. Phil stands there, the lines on his forehead pronounced, club lights dancing across his blue eyes as they flick between Sam and Dan, not quite sure how to proceed. Sam is struggling on the floor, clearly too wasted to haul himself up again in the tight space of the sound booth.

“What the fuck’re y’doing?” Dan spits.

“Me?” Phil asks, incredulous. “What about you?! Who even is this guy?”

Just then, Sam manages to wrench himself back to a standing position. He shoves Phil in the chest, hard. Dan rolls his eyes. If he has to jump in the middle of this to prevent a fight, he’ll punch Phil afterwards for making him.

“What’s your problem, dickhead?” Sam yells, spittle flying from his lips.

Phil takes a step backwards, but doesn’t flinch. He ignores Sam, eyes furiously boring into Dan’s. “Come with me.”

“Uh, no.”

“Dan.” Phil’s voice is a warning. Dan’s never heard him sound so serious. It might almost be funny, in another context.

“Listen, pal,” Sam butts in, chest puffed out as he gets closer to Phil. “I dunno who you think you are, but the kid’s not going anywhere, alright?”

“He’s not a kid, you sick fuck,” Phil snarls.

Sam grits his teeth, and Dan can see the flash of fury in his eyes. “You asked for it, ponce.”

Sam grabs Phil by the lapels of his bomber jacket, seething. Dan’s heart leaps into his throat. Mind whiting out, he lurches forwards, shoving himself in between the two of them before Sam has a chance to do anything more.

Facing Sam, Dan uses his body as a barricade. He stares straight into Sam’s eyes, heavy and firm. “Don’t touch him.”

In the back of his mind, Dan wonders vaguely how many instances there will be where he’ll willingly put his own health at risk to defend Phil Lester. Infinite, probably.

“You told me you’re mine tonight, kid,” Sam growls. “I’m doin’ you a favour. I don’t like being messed about.”

Dan grimaces, unmoved by this vague threat. Dan towers over Sam, despite their age difference. It wouldn’t be the best idea in the world to get in fight with the sound tech at his favourite club, but if it came down to it, Dan could definitely take him. 

“Tuck your dick away for five minutes while I deal with this,” Dan tells him, irritable. “You’ll survive.”

Then Dan turns, grabbing Phil by the wrist and pulling him away from the booth. He’s looking for Ben, the security guard, hoping to hand Phil over to him, but Phil isn’t having any of it. He tugs free of Dan’s grip once they’re at the edge of the dancefloor, forcing Dan to spin around.

“Dan, just stop a minute,” Phil says, loud enough to be heard over the music. “I need to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t wanna hear it,” Dan says. 

His voice is slurring a bit, but he’s sober enough to know he needs to get out of this situation. Talking to Phil is an ache. It aches more than the bruises on his face, more than the cut on his lip, or the soles of his feet from spending three nights on a dancefloor. He can’t stomach the pain of it, can’t bear the thoughts that plague him, so he needs to get Phil away. Again, Dan scans the immediate vicinity for Ben, but in the dark, swirling lights and packed bodies, he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Why are you doing this?” Phil asks, apparently incredulous. “That guy is a creep!”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“I care! I care about you.” Phil tries to reach out and touch him, but Dan is quick to move out of his path. “That’s why I’m here,” Phil persists, “because I’m worried. Because I want to make sure you’re okay-”

Dan steps closer to him, and whatever Phil sees in his face makes his sentence fall away. “No,” Dan grits out. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t’ve stuck your hand down my pants and then pretended it never happened. You wouldn’t’ve coerced me into hauling your ass around town all night so you could get with some other girl.”

Phil’s eyes, usually bright and exuberant, grow dull; he looks dreadful, Dan notices for the first time. His eyes are bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles. His hair is lank and messy. His clothes look a day old.

“Please, don’t,” he says quietly. Over the music, Dan can barely hear him. “I’m sorry.” He bites his lip, and Dan’s gaze falls to it. “I’m so sorry.”

Some small chip of ice flakes away from the block encasing Dan’s heart. He feels his resolve breaking, feels the traitorous affection he feels for this one, infuriating person melting his anger. And then, Dan is being grabbed by the arm, yanked away.

He sees Sam at his side, grumpy and livid. “Right, time’s up. You’re mine now.”

Dan’s about to shrug him off, to placate him with promises he’ll make it up to him later, but then a blur rushes past, and Sam is being tackled. Dan’s mouth falls open as he watches Phil pin Sam to the sticky, disgusting bar floor. Snatches of the things he’s shouting bounce off Dan’s ears, partially drowned out by the terrible band.

_“…not fucking yours… your grimy hands off him… taking advantage… my best friend…”_

Clumsily, Dan reaches for him, grabbing Phil by the upper arm and pulling. At first, he doesn’t move, but then a second pair of hands join him, then a third and fourth, and Dan looks over to see Ben, along with two other bouncers Dan vaguely recognises, hauling Phil to his feet. They grab Dan too, shoving them both through the crowd towards the fire exit door.

“Ben, mate,” Dan tries to garble as he’s being marched. “Listen, I’m sorry about him, he’s just wasted, you don’t need to kick us out-”

One of the bouncers open the fire exit, holding the door wide. It leads out into a narrow alley at the side of the club, where the bins are. It’s certainly not Dan’s first time in this alley, but he prefers to visit it of his own volition. Ben shoves Phil out first, sending him stumbling against the far wall. He turns to Dan, one hand firmly gripping his shoulder. “Don’t come back here for a while, Dan. You’ve been causing trouble for three nights running. Get your shit together.”

He gives Dan a push outside, then slams the door shut, leaving he and Phil alone in the cold night.

“Fuck!” Dan kicks one of the wheelie bins, and a loud clatter of glass bottles echoes through the alley. “For fuck’s sake, Phil! What the fuck am I gonna do now?”

“Go home?” Phil suggests, panting. He’s leaning against the damp brick wall, catching his breath.

Dan falls back against the opposite wall, head in his hands. “Oh, right, yeah. I’ll just barrel straight into Ricky’s fist, shall I?”

Phil is silent for a while, then Dan hears him step across the space between them. He takes one of Dan’s hands and moves it away from his face. Dan pulls out of his grip sharply, but it doesn’t seem to deter him.

Phil sucks in a breath once he catches sight of Dan’s face, the lines around his eyes crumpling. “Shit, Dan,” he says. 

For a moment, Dan doesn’t know what he’s so upset about. Then he remembers the bruising. From the light of the street lamps lining the road beyond the alley, it’s probably all too easy to see what a mess Dan is right now.

“Yeah,” Dan shrugs. “Hardy’s lacking brains, but he’s got some brawn, I’ll give him that.”

“You should see him, though.” 

Dan lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you fractured his nose.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s the rumour. He’s got a bandage over it.” Phil’s eyes remain fixed on the right side of Dan’s face. “Two black eyes. He’s going around school telling everyone it’s a ‘gym injury’, but pretty much everyone saw you beat him up, so...”

Dan stays silent. This is the first good news he’s heard for days, and he doesn’t even feel anything other than self-loathing for it. Beating up some rich kid is nothing to be proud of. Even if he absolutely had it coming.

“Is he giving you any more trouble?”

Phil shakes his head. “What did you say to him? He won’t even look at me anymore. Or Amanda. Just scurries off if he sees us in the halls.”

Amanda’s name is a sharp stab in Dan’s left side. He lifts his gaze to Phil, wondering if he should tell him the truth. In the end, he can’t be bothered to lie. 

“He got a boner.”

The look of pure astonishment on Phil’s face is almost incredible enough to make Dan smile. Almost. “What? When?”

“When I punched him,” Dan replies. This time, a smirk manages to creep onto his face.

“Fucking hell,” Phil says, blowing a puff of air upwards. He has an odd look on his face when he settles back on Dan. “You’re not…” he trails off.

“What?”

“You’re not, like…  _into_  that, are you?”

Dan makes a retching noise. “Fuck off, we’re not all into snobby douchebags.”

Phil frowns, looking away.

Dan runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”

Dan pushes off the wall. He’s already feeling a chill, and he left his jacket and bag in the club. He’ll have to beg Ben to let him in to grab it tomorrow. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and starts picking through the litter to the end of the alleyway.

“Where are you going?” Phil calls after him. There’s a clattering sound, so Dan knows Phil is following him.

“No idea,” Dan says. “You ruined my plans for the night, so I’ll have to make other arrangements.”

“If your plans were to let that creep take you home with him, I’m glad.”

“Look, you don’t get to be jealous of me,” Dan spits, bitterly. 

Phil swallows, eyes fixed to the floor. “You deserve better, that’s all.”  

“Sam’s not that bad,” Dan says in a sigh. He’s on the pavement now, stood under the yellow glow of a streetlight as he fumbles for a cigarette. “He lives in his parents’ outhouse. Hardly dangerous.”

“So what?!” Phil says, approaching him. Dan sticks the cigarette between his lips, fingers shaking with cold. “He doesn’t get the right to touch you just because he’s willing to let you sleep over after you- you-”

Dan waits for the sentence to end, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck?”

The flush whips onto Phil’s cheeks. It makes Dan laugh, hollow though it is.

“No guys should get to touch you unless you really want them to,” Phil says softly.

Dan finds his lighter at last, then looks Phil in the eye as he sparks up. “Oh right, and you’re the exception to that rule, are you?”

It’s as if Dan struck him across the cheek. He doesn’t try to defend himself, for which Dan is both grateful and annoyed. He has more argument in him. He’s pissed at Phil right now, for a plethora of reasons, and would love the opportunity to drag him across the coals for all of it, but at the same time, he never wants to witness the hurt little look on his face again.

“Come over,” Phil says. It sounds like begging. “I know you’re mad at me, I know you should be, and that I’m a dick, and every bit as bad as that douchebag in the club, and Hardy, and everyone else. But I won’t touch you. I just want to give you a place to stay. To make sure you’re safe.”

Dan takes a deep inhale, letting the nicotine wash the exhaustion from his bones. He wishes he had the privilege of saying no, but he has nowhere else to go. He nods once at Phil, then turns on the spot and begins walking back towards their side of town. For a moment, there’s silence, and then the distinct sound of Phil’s stupid nineties Converse All Stars patting the pavement behind.

*

Phil’s room is usually a safe space. It’s calm and quiet, with muted colours and familiar objects. It’s somewhere Dan doesn’t have to be anxious, or cold, or concerned with anything other than which Buffy episode they’re going to watch next. Tonight, he feels out of place here. Perhaps it’s to do with the fact it’s gone 2am, and the light is on, and Dan’s sat on Phil’s big bed, all alone. Perhaps it’s because when they crept in ten minutes ago, Phil had apologised, then moved a girl’s jacket off the bed to make room. Perhaps it’s because Dan doesn’t feel safe around Phil anymore, since four nights ago, when he’d reached into Dan’s well of insecurity, into the part of himself he hates the most, and torn out his heart.

Dan is staring blankly at the far wall. There are twelve photos tacked to it. Three are of Phil’s old rabbit Holly. One is of Phil and his mum. One is of Phil and his older brother Martyn, who moved to Australia before Dan ever had a chance to meet him. There are six of Phil and Dan. Annoying selfies mostly. Driving Susan around town. Sat in a Starbucks at Christmas time because Phil’s one of those ‘festive coffee’ kind of guys. Mucking about in the art studio, Dan annoyed because Phil is using Snapchat filters to give him kitten ears.

The last one – a new addition – is a Polaroid of Amanda. It’s one of those stupid small ones, from the cameras they sell in Urban Outfitters at an absurd cost. But it’s only of her, tiny and perfect, sat on Phil’s bed, right where Dan is now. Just then, the door creaks open, and Phil walks through. He’s holding a blue plastic bowl, moving slowly. There’s a bottle of disinfectant and a few washcloths tucked under his arm. As he sets everything down on the desk, he shoots Dan a questioning look.

“You’ve still got your shoes on.”

Dan looks down at his wet Doc Martens. “Oh. Yeah.”

Phil doesn’t push it. He places one of the cloths in the bowl and squeezes it out. Then he brings it over to Dan, along with the bottle of disinfectant.

“Hold still for a sec,” Phil instructs. He’s kneeling on the floor beside the bed, right in front of Dan’s knees.

Dan’s decidedly not going to picture any of the other times he’s seen someone in the same position, under entirely different circumstances. Instead, he thinks of the old piano in the corner of Phil’s room, imagines it being happy to see him. Nobody else plays it, as far as Dan knows. But then, maybe Amanda sat there when she came round. Maybe she’s a phenomenal musician, with perfect pitch, Grade 8 piano, voice like a damn skylark. Phil pours some disinfectant on a dry cloth, and rises up on his knees, bringing it to Dan’s face. Dan flinches back at once.

“I’m just-” Phil starts to say.

“Yeah, I know,” Dan says. “Sorry.”

Dan holds still this time, letting Phil dab the disinfectant on his split lip. He’s careful, and impossibly gentle, almost cross-eyed behind his thick glasses as he concentrates on the task. It stings, obviously, but Dan’s been feeling pretty numb, so he doesn’t make a fuss.

“You lost your lip ring,” Phil says, sadly.

“Is it gross?”

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. “No.”

He continues for a little longer, then sits back, hand falling away. Dan can taste the acidic, metallic flavour on his tongue. Phil picks up the damp cloth then, the one he’d dipped into the bowl on the desk.

“Here,” he says, then presses it against Dan’s face, over the bruises.

Dan hisses in surprise. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”

“Yeah, it’s ice water.”

“Oh.”

It’s surprisingly relieving. He imagines there must be some swelling, but he hasn’t looked in a mirror for a while. Phil presses it over his forehead, then his eye, then his cheek, taking his time with each area. He gets to Dan’s chin, then shifts Dan’s jacket collar and sucks in a breath.

“Did he get you in the neck, too? I didn’t see that.”

Dan stares, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

Phil just stares back, dumbly. He’s so close, it’s difficult to read him.

“You did that, you pillock,” Dan says.

It takes a minute or so for the realisation to hit, but when it does, Phil draws backwards, blushing. “Oh,” he says, then stands up to rinse out the washcloth. “I didn’t see it before… on Prom night-”

“No, I covered it up,” Dan tells him, sourly. “Thought you might not want Amanda seeing.”

The only response Dan gets is the tinkle of the water falling back into the bowl as Phil squeezes out the cloth.

“So how’s it going up on cloud nine?” Dan asks, though he really, really doesn’t want to know. 

Phil turns back to him, smiling sadly. He walks over and gives Dan the fresh cloth. This time, Dan holds it to his own face.

“It’s going really good,” he says, sitting down on the bed. “She came over yesterday. We just hung out. It was nice.” Dan looks towards the jacket Phil had moved, now slung over the back of his desk chair. “She left her jacket behind,” Phil says, answering the obvious.

“Cool,” Dan replies. He doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness.

“Shall we go to bed?”

Dan lowers the cold flannel. “I guess.”

As he unties his shoes, shucks off his jacket and jeans, Dan can’t help but notice how steadfastly Phil is not looking at him. He never deliberately averted his gaze all the other times Dan has changed in front of him. Too exhausted to read much into it, Dan just clambers into the bed, ensuring to keep a sizeable distance between their bodies. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t entirely glorious to slip between thick, warm covers and fresh sheets.

“I’m sorry I got you kicked out of the club, Dan,” Phil says into the dark, once he’s switched off the light.

Dan sighs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not really okay. Ozone is  not just Dan’s favourite club, it’s the only place he can hide out indefinitely when there’s nowhere else to go, where he won’t be judged, and his family won’t find him. 

“And I’m sorry for…” Phil pauses. He sniffs. “For what I did. The other night. I never meant to use you like that. You trust me, I know you do, and I abused it-”

“Phil, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not fucking okay.” Phil’s voice is raised. “I don’t know why I did it, Dan, it’s like… like I couldn’t help it. It sounds nuts, and I don’t expect you to understand it, or forgive me, but I promise you I’m sorry. I’ll never do that to you again, Dan. I’ll never be like those other guys who use you, who treat you like an object-”

“Phil, stop,” Dan says. He puts a hand on Phil’s shoulder, though it burns him to do it. He tries to keep his voice level, so as not to give away how hard he’s crying. “Please stop. You’re sorry, and I believe you. We can forget it ever happened.”

“We can?”

The lump in Dan’s throat shifts, jabbing its jagged edge into soft flesh. “Yeah. If you want.”

A rush of breath escapes Phil’s lips. “And we can go back to being friends?”

If he tries to answer, Dan knows a sob will escape. Instead, he rolls over, remaining quiet, and shuts his eyes, tight.

“Dan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Ten coming next Tuesday at 8pm GMT!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda smiles. It’s a gorgeous, radiant smile. She looks down into her hand, where the two black pearls lay, still. “These aren’t meant for me, Phil. They belong to someone else.”

The sun is only just cresting the horizon, yet Dan is out. The barren path he trudges down is frosted with a sheet of white, thinner than a sleeve of crêpe paper. The route home from Phil’s winds around the town’s park - a generous term for the patch of grass near a Primary school, vaguely upkept by an elderly man in a jumpsuit occasionally seen pulling weeds. The cold, endless winter has left the park dry and brown, a perfect reflection of Dan’s mood. There’s a dilapidated children’s playground at one end of the park, surrounded by a chain link fence. Inside, the metal swings and climbing frames are rusted to the point of danger. It’s doubtful that any sound-minded parents allow their kids to brave them anymore. 

As he walks by the skate park at the other end, Dan slows a little, surveying what’s become of it. When he was around seven or eight, Dan would sneak out here to watch Ricky skate with his friends. He’d loiter at the edge of the concrete, pretending to be just passing by. Ricky would yell at him to go home, tell him he was too young to be there and to stop pestering him. Dan recalls the sneer on his brother’s face so clearly, even now. At twelve years old, Ricky was just as mean, just as angry as he is today. It didn’t deter Dan, back then. As a child, all Dan wanted was to be his older brother, to emulate him, or at least to befriend him.

A thick pulse of sudden wind sweeps over Dan, and he shivers. Without a jacket, the early morning is almost unbearably cold. He shoves his hands as deeply as he can into his shallow jean pockets, and walks on. 

Rather than dwell on what awaits him at home, Dan imagines he is back in Phil’s bed, weighted by his soft blue-green duvet, Phil’s silky hair tickling his cheek. Phil gets too close in the night. He doesn’t mean to, but he’s drawn to warmth unconsciously, like a cat sprawling in a sunbeam. Dan had woken up early to the press of his body, to the sighs of his sleep, long fingers resting on his abdomen. He couldn’t stand the touch of him, in the light of day. He’d stolen out of Phil’s bedroom before even Mrs Lester was roused. He wishes he had somewhere else to return to, but having been kicked out of Ozone, and having pissed off Sam and Ben, Dan is officially out of options. He knew he’d have to face Ricky eventually, but that doesn’t make it any less horrific of a reality.

The walk between his and Phil’s house is maybe ten minutes at the most, but despite his pathetic attempt to dawdle and drag it out, the cold spurs him onwards, and he arrives far too soon. The light is on in Ricky’s bedroom window; he’ll likely be getting ready for work. Dan glances at Ricky’s car, parked in the driveway still, silent, unknowingly the root of all this trouble. Dan takes a deep breath, then lets himself in the front door.

It takes under a minute for Ricky to appear at the top of the stairs, having heard the door open no doubt. His shirt is half buttoned, and his knee high black socks are the only clothing on his bare shins. At least he’s wearing boxers.

“You little shit,” Ricky hisses, then thunders down the stairs. Dan swallows hard, trying to remain composed as he approaches. “Think you can just steal my fucking car? Think I wouldn’t notice?”

His hands are already balled into fists.

“Brought it back, didn’t I?”

Ricky grabs him by the shirt and shoves him hard against the door, growling. Dan squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable blow. It doesn’t come straight away. Seconds pass, and still no impact, so Dan opens one eye, meeting Ricky’s glare.

His brother is breathing hard, chest puffing out. His fist has fallen to his side, though he still has ahold of Dan by the shirt. “You’re all…” Ricky says, then gestures to Dan’s cheek, making him flinch. “What’s up with your face?”

Dan doesn’t answer. Whatever he says would make no difference anyway. He wishes Ricky would just get it over with, land his kicks or punches so they can move on. Once he gets his anger out, Ricky’s at least a little easier to deal with. To Dan’s astonishment, Ricky releases him instead. He takes a step back, surveying Dan carefully.

“Someone do that to you?”

Again, Dan doesn’t dare reply, but his left shoulder comes up in a small shrug.

“Who?”

“The fuck’s it matter, Ricky?” Dan croaks out. “You pissed off someone got there first?”

Ricky’s teeth clench. “Mum said some kid came round looking for you. Lanky, black hair. Glasses. Was it him?”

Dan struggles to swallow the burst of hysterical laughter that surges up. The idea of Phil managing to injure anything larger than the moths he occasionally has to swat for Dan is bonkers.

“No,” Dan says, choosing not to bother trying to explain this.

“If it was, I’ll kill him,” Ricky says, absurdly.

Dan can’t understand his brother’s logic – it’s apparently fine if Dan’s injuries are caused by Ricky himself, but if it’s anyone outside the family, that’s obviously outrageous. But Dan doesn’t get a chance to probe Ricky for whatever half-witted explanation he might give, because at that moment, there’s a knock on the other side of the door. Dan feels the three pounds vibrate down his back.

Ricky stares, deep lines creasing his Neanderthal forehead as he thinks about what to do. He grabs Dan’s arm and yanks him away from the door, then wrenches it open. Dan wonders if he’s forgotten he’s not dressed. At the sight of Phil, standing ashen on his front step, Dan’s blood runs cold. He stumbles forwards, attempting to push Ricky aside, but his brother is stocky, heavy-set. Dan’s always been the twiglet, compared to him.

“You,” Ricky says, drinking in the sight of Phil. “You’re the nonce who was here the other day. Mum says you had a hand in stealing my car, an’ all.”

“No,” Dan jumps in quickly. He has a hand hovering over Ricky’s upper arm, primed to hold him back if he tries anything. “No, that was all me. He’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Dan,” Phil says, his shoulders already slumping in relief at the sight of him. “I woke up and you were gone. Are you alright-”

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to you,” Ricky says to Phil. He takes a step over the threshold, getting closer to him. “Were you involved in this? Did you see him nick it?”

Phil looks from Ricky to Dan, at a loss. “I-”

Dan’s hand makes contact with Ricky’s shoulder and pulls hard, forcing him to turn. “Ricky, it was me. All me. I stole your keys off the counter, I snuck out while you were in your room, I drove the car to Prom.”

Ricky’s eyes are fiery and dark. He opens his mouth to retort, to yell perhaps, but then Phil speaks.

“But I made him,” he says. Dan could throttle him. “I asked him to take it for the night. I bribed him, actually.”

“Phil, shut up,” Dan hisses.

Phil ignores him. “It’s my fault. If you wanna be pissed at anyone it should be me. Dan’s been through enough.”

This last comment is just strange enough to kill Dan’s argument before it forms. Ricky is silent in the face of Phil’s words. He’s squinting at Phil, like he’s trying to figure him out. Phil is dressed bizarrely, in black jogging bottoms, a Halloween jumper, and a galaxy printed jacket. He’s obviously rolled straight out of bed. Even his shoelaces are untied. Did he honestly wake up, realise Dan was gone and run right after him?

“Fuck’s sake, I don’t have time for this,” Ricky suddenly declares.

He turns from Phil, shoving past Dan back into the house. Dan holds his breath, staying perfectly still as he listens to Ricky’s feet pounding up the stairs.

“Did… did we get away with it?” Phil asks into the silence Ricky left them standing in.

“You didn’t do anything to get away with,” Dan replies, tetchy. “That was really fucking stupid, trying to take the blame like that.”

Phil just shrugs. It’s infuriating, how lightly he’s taking this. Dan’s heart has only just ceased pounding. “I was so worried when I woke up this morning and you were gone,” Phil says. “I knew you had nowhere else to go but here, back to Ricky. I thought if I came and backed you up-”

“Phil!” Dan’s through keeping a lid on the anger. “This isn’t fucking school! My brother isn’t Hardy Jenns or Sam the sound tech. He’s dangerous.” He lifts up his shirt, exposing his left side, where a patch of raw, shiny pink skin is visible. “You know what this is? It’s from when I was nine, and I broke Ricky’s CD Walkman by accident, so he picked up Dad’s boiling hot coffee and threw it at me.” Dan lets the shirt fall, then yanks his collar to one side, exposing his big floral tattoo. “I got this done to cover up the scar from Ricky shoving me through a glass door when I was thirteen, right after Dad died, because I chickened out of speaking at the funeral.” Dan sticks out his wrist, exposing more scars, more reminders. “These are from fights, from him pushing me over, or into doors or walls, and just from being smacked about all my damn life.”

Dan takes a breath, not able to meet Phil’s eye.

“I have more,” Dan says, voice cracking. “He’s fucking violent, Phil. You can’t piss him off. I can’t see you be hurt like that.”

Phil moves closer, so Dan takes a step back. They’re both inside now, which is terrifying in itself for Dan, because Ricky is still upstairs. Dan had done so well keeping Phil from his family until now. He never wanted them to know of his existence, never wanted Phil to so much as be a blip on Ricky’s radar. Dan vaguely notices he’s crying, just from pure overwhelm, but he still doesn’t expect it when Phil’s arms wrap around him. It takes a minute, but eventually he just cant be bothered to resist. Phil is a warm, calm safety blanket. He smells like cinnamon and sweets, and he’s offering himself to Dan, now, when he needs that blanket most, so Dan just melts into it. Phil doesn’t say a word, he just holds tight, letting Dan sniffle and dampen his jacket.

Eventually Dan pulls free, wiping his sodden face with his sleeve. “You need to go,” he says.

“No, come on,” Phil replies quickly. He reaches for Dan’s hand. “You can come home with me again, just grab your stuff and-”

“No,” Dan says, stressing the word. He meets Phil’s gaze somehow, though he knows he must look far from ferocious, with his piggy eyes and damp cheeks. “I can’t,” he says. “I can’t be around you. We need to just…” Dan threads shaky fingers through his hair. He needs a shower, badly. “We need to spend some time apart.”

“What?” Phil sounds alarmed. “But-”

“You’re driving me crazy,” Dan says, shutting him up. “And I’m driving you crazy. Things are… different. You have a girlfriend, and I just don’t fit into that. Let’s just…”

“But you’re my best friend,” Phil says, frantic. He’s trying to reach for Dan’s hand, but Dan won’t let him take hold. “Dan, we can get past this-”

Dan shakes his head. “I have to get to work,” he says. “I’ve skipped two shifts already.”

“I can come in later.”

Dan lifts his eyes, begging. “Please, Phil,” he says. “Please don’t.”

*

By the time Phil reaches the top of the hill, he’s out of breath. He ran some of the way, and when he couldn’t keep it up, slowed to a sort-of half jog. He spotted Amanda sat on the bench from the bottom of the hill, her thick curls buffeting about in the strong wind. She’s facing away from him, so thankfully doesn’t notice him puffing as he climbs the steep incline towards her.

At last he reaches her, and immediately begins apologising – he’s almost an hour late to meet her here. She regards him a little worriedly, her big doe eyes round as she takes him in. She’s wearing gold eyeshadow, making the chocolate-brown of her irises seem even richer.

“…so so sorry, I just got caught up, and then we sort of got in a fight, and-”

Amanda holds up her hand to quiet him, alarmed. “Fight? Who did you fight with?”

Phil flops down beside Amanda on the bench, unable to fight for breath standing upright any longer. “Dan,” he says. “I was at Dan’s.”

“Oh,” Amanda says. She lowers her hand, studying her pink fingernails. “I thought you went home last night.”

Yesterday evening, Phil had been at Amanda’s house, helping her transport the enormous painting he’d done of her into her bedroom. Her mum wasn’t there, but her younger brothers, Jake and Aidan, had been. At nine and eleven, they were gleeful at having something to tease their sister about:

_“Is this your new boyfriend?”_

_“Did he paint this picture of you?”_

_“Is it cos he lurrves you?”_

Phil had endured it with a smile, but their constant presence had not left a great deal of opportunity for him and Amanda to be alone.

 _“Who looks after them when you and your mum aren’t here?”_  Phil had asked, furtively, whilst Amanda was cooking the boys’ dinner.

 _“Nobody,”_  Amanda replied.  _“So I’m pretty much always here.”_

Distracted as she was by her siblings, Phil spent a lot of the evening sat on Amanda’s sofa, halfway through a Mario Kart race that Jake and Aidan had been too excitable to finish, his mind wandering to things he’d been trying not to think about. Dan. Prom. The fight.

So, just as the boys were getting into their pyjamas, Phil decided he’d head home. Amanda had her hands full, and despite trying to help her, Phil clearly was only getting in the way. She apologised about it, said they could meet up the next morning at the viewpoint up the hill by the park. Phil kissed her goodbye - on the cheek, her brothers were watching – and started to walk home. Then, he caught sight of the bus into town idling at the stop. Until that moment, he’d been lying to himself that Dan would be more sensible than hanging out at Ozone for the past three days instead of coming into work or school. But seeing the bus just sat there, as if waiting for him to climb on, Phil couldn’t keep up the pretence. He’d jumped on straight away, barged into the club and found Dan off his face, snogging some creepy sound guy. He’d managed to drag him home to stay over, after a lot of persuading and an almost-fight.

“I did,” Phil replies, stretching the truth just a tad. “Dan... came over. After I left yours. This morning I… went round his for a bit.”

Amanda nods in a way that screams ‘bullshit’. “I thought he was pissed at you?”

Phil shrugs. “He’s an angry guy.” He settles back into the bench, eyes glazing as he recalls some of this anger. “You should’ve seen his face though, Jesus. Half black and blue from the fight. I still think Hardy got off worse, but I bet Dan’s gonna be wearing that shiner for a while.”

“Wow,” Amanda says. “Sounds awful.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, sighing. “I’m really worried about him.”

“So, he stayed at yours last night?”

Phil turns to her. He feels a quick rush of guilt, but it recedes soon after. “Yeah. He was… upset.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

Phil gnaws his lip. “Because of the fight, I guess.”

Amanda’s following sigh is deep, as if she’s summoned it from a well of despair. “Phil, we need to have a chat.”

Her tone is just the same as his mum’s was, when she explained that she couldn’t afford to send Phil to art lessons anymore, and that he’d just have to watch online videos, or read books at the library, and teach himself.

“What about?” Phil asks, though his heart pounds.

Amanda sighs again, looking out at the view in front of her. From this spot, high on a hill, at the fringe of an ugly, usually empty car park, the whole of the town is visible. From such a high vantage point, it’s worryingly easy to see the stark difference between the upper side and the lower, sliced as they are by the railway down the middle. On the lower side, Phil’s side, the houses are crushed together, mostly semi-detached, with a few grey blocks of estate flats placed here and there. I’s all residential, pretty much, apart from the odd off-licence lurking ominously on a street corner, it’s neon ’24-hour’ sign buzzing faintly.

The other side is quite literally greener, as the gardens of the wealthier people’s houses sprawl, covered in pretty flowers and big ponds. The houses are way up on the furthest reaches of the town, as far from the ugly side as they can get, and the middle is full of neat, modern offices, streets of clothes shops and cafés, and of course the big fountain in the midst of it all, right by where Ozone is hidden, half-underground. As Amanda observes all of this, Phil wonders what she must think of it. She detests it, probably. Or maybe just longs to hop across that train track for good.

“Why do you like me, Phil?”

He turns to her, dumbfounded. For most, even just to glimpse her from afar would be enough of an answer to that question. “Uh… lots of reasons.”

She turns to him. She looks worn out, her pretty features drooping. “No, honestly. I want you to tell me why.”

Baffled, Phil’s mind begins to reel, collecting all the reasons. He can’t imagine Amanda is asking because of a hidden insecurity – she must be well aware of how much she is wanted by every female-liking person that catches a whiff of her knock-off perfume.

“Well, you’re funny,” Phil says. “You’re really quite sharp, and sarcastic – it surprised me at first.”

She nods, still with that worn-out look masking her face. “Uh huh.”

“And um, you’re gorgeous obviously,” Phil says, blushing. “I’ve always thought it. Your hair, and your eyes. And the way you smile - glowing. It’s like you’re three steps ahead of everyone.”

“You’re making me sound like a dick,” Amanda says, but she’s smiling now, sort of. “What else?”

“I find you just… super interesting,” Phil confesses. He looks at his hands. “The life you’ve chosen for yourself. You wanted this impossible thing - to be with the Elite despite your background. And you didn’t let anything stop you. You fought for it.” Phil is quiet for a moment, pensive. The wind sweeps one of Amanda’s curls across his cheek. “You don’t even really get on with the Elite people. But being one of them… it’s how you cope. It’s like by hiding out with them, pretending to be something you aren’t, you’re escaping everything else.” He glances at her worriedly. “I might be getting this all wrong, feel free to sock me if I’m being a twat.”

“No,” Amanda says, shrugging. “That’s bang on, actually. I can’t face my real life for too long, so I go hang out with a bunch of brain-dead morons, tag along to the parties they go to, pretend I’m not… me.”

Phil nods. “I think it’s fascinating. I admire your courage to do that every day. It must be so hard to keep it up.”

Amanda is staring at him again. She looks as if she’s waiting for something to click in Phil’s mind. Phil just cocks his head to one side, totally in the dark. One last time, she heaves a sigh, then brings her hands up to untwist the earring from her left ear. Immediately, Phil is alarmed, and can only sit, wide-eyed, as she untwists the other, too. She holds them out to him in her tiny, pale hand. They look big, dark in her palm. Two blackcurrants in a pool of milk.

“You don’t want me, Phil,” she says.

“What? Of course I do-”

She places her other hand, the one not cupping the earrings, on his shoulder. As she leans in, her expression is kind, if a little condescending. “No. I want you to try and get this for yourself, Phil. I think you need to be the one to realise it, or you won’t believe it.”

“I honestly don’t know what you mean.” Phil can feel the panic welling up. It’s as if he can feel her slipping through his fingers. Surely there must be some way to hold on to her. He’s already won her once, he can do it again. “I asked you to Prom because I like you, because I want to be with you, because you deserve-”

“Because I deserve better,” Amanda finishes. “Because seedy guys are treating me like a piece of ass. Because I don’t see that I’m more than where I come from. Because you want to draw me, to show me that I’m beautiful. To give me fancy things, so I can feel I’m worth them. You want to hold me and kiss me and tell me that I’m precious, and that I’m safe, and that I’m the most important thing to you, even if I don’t matter to anyone else.”

Phil’s eyes are watery. He’s so scared of what she’s saying. It’s as if she’s sliced that brown-eyed gaze straight through his forehead, into his soft, mushy mind.

“Y-yes.”

Amanda smiles. It’s a gorgeous, radiant smile. She looks down into her hand, where the two black pearls lay, still. “These aren’t meant for me, Phil. They belong to someone else.”

It takes Phil a moment, and then the penny drops. It drops like a stone into his gut, sending bubbles of hysterical laughter up his gullet, out of his throat. “Are you talking about Dan?” He asks, voice high. “No, that’s not- I’m not-”

Amanda reaches out, and Phil doesn’t understand why until he feels her sweep away a tear from his cheek. “It was Dan that you took to Prom, Phil.” Something about her tone is so sure, so unwaveringly honest, that Phil doesn’t try to contradict her. “It was him you bought the earrings for. It’s him you’re worried about, him you’d fight off a thousand dickheads for. It’s him you want, that you think deserves the world, that you think should be with you. It’s not me.”

“I don’t… I don’t…”  _understand_ , Phil wants to say. He presses a hand to his forehead, his cheek. He feels warm, despite the wintry chill.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Amanda asks. She takes hold of his hand, bringing it away from his face, clasping it. “I think you have a huge well of kindness inside of you. I think you’ve stored it up over years. You were waiting for the right person to give it to. And then you met that person, but he was stubborn, and he was defensive, and he wouldn’t accept it. That’s how he is. Fences built up sky high, all around him. So your well, it just kept building up. So much you were bursting with all this untapped, raw love and affection, all of it for him.”

Amanda pauses. Phil feels his lungs growing tighter, as if he’s climbing the hill again, stuck ascending it forever. He waits, struggling for air, for what she’ll say next.

“And then you saw me,” Amanda says with a soft smile. “And I am Dan. In so many ways. We grew up the same. We have the same attitude. We bury our shame in men that abuse us. We even look similar. Our hair. Our eyes. So you convinced yourself that it was me you wanted. That out of nowhere, I was the one for you. You didn’t let yourself think it was Dan, not ever, because of those fences he has, keeping you away.” She squeezes his hand. “Do you think I might be right?”

Phil’s mind is reeling. It’s a ferris wheel, going too fast, and rocking violently in a thunderstorm. The bolts and screws that keep it together are threatening to burst from their grooves. It’s all about to come crashing down. Everything he’s been so sure of, all that’s been driving him for months. He looks at Amanda, tortured. Her smile is still in place. A film star smile, truly. As beautiful as looking straight at a burning, bright star.

But even though it is dazzling to behold her, windswept and as totally beguiling as she has ever been, deep in his soul, Phil knows. He’s seen a better smile, one that cuts a dimple into a rounded cheek. He’s seen browner eyes, that leak gold and caramel and ochre. He’s felt softer curls against his fingers. He’s heard a rarer, sweeter laugh, and a deeper, richer voice.

“I’m… so sorry,” Phil says. It’s utterly gut-wrenching, to know, in his aching, guilty soul, that she is right. “I’ve strung you along all this time...”

“I know you didn’t mean to, Phil,” Amanda says softly. She presses the earrings into his hand. “It’s ok. I doubt you even know how much you’ve helped me, despite this. You reminded me that people like you exist.”

“People like me,” Phil scoffs. He shakes his head, eyes stinging. “Idiots that blunder into things they’ve half thought about. People that hurt everyone around them because they’re too pig-headed to see two feet in front of their nose.”

Amanda squeezes his hand. “People that can fall so deeply, excruciatingly in love with someone that they’re blind from it. If the past few days have been any glimpse of how generous, and sweet, and kind you’d be with the person you love…” She shakes her head, eyebrows raised. “Dan’s a heck of a lucky guy.”

“I don’t see how you can be okay with this,” Phil sniffs, trying to ignore the heavy blush fizzing in his cheeks. “When you said yes to Prom with me you lost everything. All the work you put in, getting in with the Elites… it’s all for nothing. Because of me.”

“Honey, you did me a favour, getting me out of that nightmare.” Amanda smiles, that mischievous glimmer in her gold shadowed eyes. “It’ll be good for me to stand on my own two feet for a while. Don’t worry about me, okay? You’ve got enough to deal with.” She squeezes his hand a final time, and lets go. “I’ll be just fine.”

*

Dan’s on the doghouse shift, because Louise is pissed at him for skipping work the past few days. She’d had to cover for him when Hardy’s dad came in, apparently, lying that he was ill with flu. The only reason Dan isn’t fired, according to Louise, is because in all the years Dan’s worked here, and all the extra shifts he’s taken on, he’s never before missed work.

“Make sure you mop the floor tonight too,” Louise shouts to Dan from the kitchen.

Dan rolls his eyes in secret. “Yeah, I will.”

Privately, Dan suspects that Louise is a little extra pissed off because he refused to explain to her what the actual reason was for his  absence. Being the gossip hound she is, Louise took one look at Dan’s bruised face, his split lip, and along with the account she’d gotten from PJ about the incident at Prom (PJ was not there of course, being younger than Dan, but his knowledge was still plentiful as far as Dan can tell thanks to the St Anthony rumour mill), sniffed a scandal. Dan just answered her questions with vague deflections, not wanting to go into the whole drama of it quite yet. She’ll get it out of him eventually, she always does.

It’s Friday, so the café is rammed, made worse by the fact that seemingly half of St Anthony’s student body is in here, because half term is next week, and the school decided to make today an inset day as a special treat. Dan hasn’t had a spare minute to clean the milk jugs properly, let alone have a fag break. He’s been on his feet since 10am, and it’s getting dark outside. The windows are opaque with condensation from the non-stop chatter of the students, not to mention the hot coffees Dan keeps churning out for them.

In a way, Dan is glad he hasn’t had a moment to breathe, because he’s barely holding himself together after the events of the past few days. If he lets his mind wander from the temperature of the milk he’s frothing, or which table has to be cleared next, he’ll start to think of Phil, and what Dan had told him about needing to be apart, and then his heart will ache at the idea of returning to a solitary life, watching Phil hold Amanda’s hand down the school hallway every day. Dan knocks over the pot of demerara sugar packets as he hands a customer a takeaway flat white. The packets spill onto the floor behind the counter, and Dan curses, crouching down to start picking them up. As he does, he hears the annoying tinkle of the bell as yet another person enters.

“Louise!” He calls. “Could you come serve this customer, please?”

She bustles out, irritated no doubt because she prefers to be a ‘behind the scenes’ kind of manager.

“Oh,” she says, stepping around Dan’s huddled form as she approaches the till. Dan glances up in time to watch as a smile spreads onto her face. “Phil, what can I-”

“Where’s Dan?” Phil’s voice is urgent.

Dan freezes at the sound of him. Something about Phil’s energy must be a warning sign for Louise, because she sneaks a subtle look down at Dan before responding. Dan shakes his head slowly, begging her to stay silent.

“Oh, um,” Louise says, looking back to Phil. Dan shuffles closer to the wall of the counter, trying not to make a sound. “I haven’t seen him in a while…”

“Did he come into work today?” Phil asks in that same pressing voice. “He said he was going to. I need to see him, I have to tell him…”

Dan waits, but he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I could take a message for him?” Louise’s voice is gentle. Dan is so grateful for her, in this moment.

“Could you tell him…” A crack runs through Phil’s words, as though they’re about to splinter apart. “Tell him I’m sorry. I’m too late, and it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. And tell him I was blind, and that he’s perfect, and I’ve never actually wanted anyone else.”

Dan stands up. Phil is wearing a black beanie hat with a Gengar on it, his glasses are beginning to fog up, and he’s got a light haze of stubble on his jaw. His mouth opens a little when he sees Dan, obviously stunned by his sudden appearance. Louise takes a slow step backwards, a wildly excited glint in her eye at the prospect of imminent drama.

Dan’s heart is thrumming at the base of his throat. “What did you just say?”

For a seemingly endless few seconds, all Phil does is stare, and Dan wonders if he misheard.

“Dan, I- I couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t let myself.”

It’s the kind of vague, irritatingly ambiguous answer that Dan just doesn’t have the patience for right now. The frustration - from this conversation, from the slew of dead ends he’s been facing, from his boring life, from the constant ache in his bruised face - finally boils over. He huffs, rolling his eyes, swiping the pot of sugar up from the floor.

“I don’t have time for this.” He slams the pot of sugar back in its place with a thwack, and pushes through the door at his rear into the kitchen.

Phil, of course, follows him straight in. “It makes sense now,” he’s saying, bizarrely. Dan takes him by the arm and drags him out of the kitchen, annoyed. “I think part of me woke up to it when I kissed you.”

He’s speaking too loudly, Dan realises a fraction too late. The immediate vicinity of student-packed tables turn in surprise, ears pricking at the words leaving Phil’s mouth. Great, Dan thinks, just what he needs. More fuel for the St Anthony’s gossip train about his extra-curricular activities. He drops Phil’s arm like it’s burning, and shoots him a harsh glare.

“What are you on about?” Dan hisses. “I thought I told you not to come in here today.”

“Dan, please listen,” Phil begs. Dan just ignores him, swiping a nearby tray and beginning to angrily load dirty cups onto it from one of the tables of onlookers. The crockery clatters and knocks together, maybe chipping, but Dan can’t find it in himself to care. Phil rambles on, voice raising over the noise. “I’m not explaining myself very well, my mind’s all floopy. Amanda said it so well-”

At the sound of her name, Dan drops the tray. A lot of it survives, but a teapot smashes into pieces, which ricochet across the floor. Some of the onlookers clap and jeer, not helping Dan’s growing feelings of vexation. Immediately Phil is on his knees, scrambling to collect the pieces.

“I’ll do it for fuck’s sake,” Dan snaps, dropping to his knees as well. He bats Phil’s hands away from the broken pieces. “You’ll slice your hand open, let me do it.”

Phil watches without argument as Dan gathers the larger bits and puts them carefully on the tray. Louise approaches, brandishing a dustpan and brush. She inclines her head, telling them both without words to move aside. As Dan stands, Phil steps towards him, catching hold of his wrists. Dan backs up, but Phil just moves with him, holding tight.

“I don’t know how to explain it so that you’ll understand,” Phil says. There’s a desperation so deep, so strong in his face that Dan stops trying. He’s going to have to endure, to listen to whatever ridiculous speech Phil is about to give. He sighs, trying uselessly to steel himself for the cut of the jagged knife in Phil’s words. “I don’t think I can find the right words. So here.”

At first, Dan is baffled. Phil is digging into his jeans pocket, and then he tucks something into Dan’s fist. Slowly, Dan’s eyes lower to it, and he unfurls his fingers. There, laid in the centre of his palm, are two black pearls, fixed onto thin silver stems.

“I don’t get it,” Dan says, locked on the earrings. “Did she not want them?”

Phil shakes his head. He smells so dreamy, this close. Like fresh rainwater, sweetened with a splash of syrup. “They’re yours, Dan. They were always yours.”

Dan swallows around a lump of coal lodged in his throat. His heart is doing that strange thrumming again; this time he can feel it right down in his fingertips.

“You bought these for Amanda,” Dan says, though his voice wobbles, like he’s not sure of that truth.

Phil smiles very slightly. “I thought so, too. But I was kidding myself, wasn’t I?” He plucks one of the earrings and slips the back off. He’s gentle, almost reverent, as he reaches up, pressing it into Dan’s ear. When it’s fastened, Dan is utterly still, too bemused to move an inch. Phil leans back, a breath of laughter escaping. “Anyone with half a brain could see. These are made for you.”

Something hot and stinging smarts Dan’s eyes, the back of his nose. “What- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with my best friend,” Phil says. He’s reaching past Dan’s cheek, to fix the other earring in place. “I’m saying I always have been.”

Dan’s vaguely aware of an audience, watching what has become quite the scene, silently gawping at a confession Dan could not have predicted if he tried. All he can hear are the words Phil just spoke.

_In love._

_In love with my best friend._

“What about Amanda?”

Phil has inched closer now. Too close for friends.

“Who?” Phil whispers, and then kisses him.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan is the kind of severe, electrifying beauty that is almost frightening to behold. The sort of exotic flower you should observe from a safe distance, but never touch, lest it poison you with one prick of its thorns. To have him this close is maddening; his eyes are almost black in the low light, and filled with intensity. He radiates warmth, like a dark, burning star.

When Dan opens his eyes, Phil is still standing in front of him. He blinks, but those cobalt eyes don’t dissipate. The grinning Gengar on Phil’s hat remains exactly where it is, level with Dan’s eyes as Phil sinks down from his tiptoes. Dan’s lips are vibrating, his breaths are shallow. As he floats down from the astral plane, the noises and sights and smells outside of Phil and his melon conditioner and caramel flavoured lips re-emerge. There’s a great deal of elevated chatter from all sides of the room, which Dan slowly realises is probably about him. He hears someone laugh, then shout “woo, get it, guys”. Warmth spreads through his cheeks, down his neck. **  
**

“I…” Dan says; his voice is a husk of itself. He feels as if someone slipped something stronger than caffeine into the espresso he chucked down a while ago. “I should get back to work. My shift doesn’t end for another hour.”

Phil’s face falls. He’s looking at Dan like he’s worried he’s about to break into pieces. “Oh, okay.” He shifts from foot to foot. “Will you come over after? I’ll wait for you.”

“Um,” Dan says.

He glances around, room spinning into a blur of muted colours and half-familiar faces. It seems most of the coffee shop is watching them, their caffeinated blood and elevated heart rates pushing excitable, gossip-hungry expressions onto their faces. Dan takes a step backwards. The floor feels spongy beneath his feet. The air is viscous; breathing it is like swallowing lungfuls of warm water. Just as he’s starting to turn from Phil, to walk back towards the counter, back to something that makes sense, something solid and sure, Phil grabs his wrist. Dan can do nothing except stare at the spot where Phil’s skin meets his, utterly dazed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks, panicked. “I’m sorry I just went straight in there, that was probably really stupid. I’m just… trying to catch up with my feelings.” He frowns, shaking his head. “Or something.”

“Right.” Dan swallows. Phil’s fingers are tightly locked around his wrist, but it isn’t painful. It’s quite grounding. He lifts his eyes to meet Phil’s, heart speeding up. “This is a lot to process. Let’s talk after…” Dan flaps his hand to the general vicinity of the café.

“Yeah, okay,” Phil agrees. Neither of them move, too caught up in their unbroken stare. Tentatively, Phil’s thumb sweeps back and forth over the back of Dan’s hand. It’s been sore ever since he punched Hardy. It’s a sweet, simple gesture, one that melts Dan’s heart. He feels a slow, cautious smile creeping up. Before it can fully form, Phil releases him, cheeks softly pink. He shoves his hands into his back pockets. “I’ll just… go sit down then. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Do you want a coffee?” Dan asks. He pauses, awkwardly flapping a hand in the air. “On me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Phil says, beaming. “The usual.”

*

As the streetlights splash warm, custard yellows over the two of them, Phil reaches out and takes Dan’s hand. Dan is so startled he almost trips, but Phil’s grip stabilises him.

“Seriously?” Dan asks, unable to hide the hiccup of laughter that escapes.

Phil is the picture of innocence. “What?”

“Shocking, I’m sure, but I’m not the… holding hands type.”

“You’ll cope.” Phil’s fingers slip between Dan’s, tightening considerably.

Dan thinks about protesting further, but considering it would more than likely be pointless, he doesn’t bother. This whole night has been so surreal, he can cope with this one further peculiarity. As they continue walking, Dan’s fingers start to curl around Phil’s of their own accord. He’s never held anyone’s hand before in this way; he never imagined it would feel this natural. Dan had been under the impression that couples only did the cutesy stuff to rub their romance in everyone’s faces, the way an Instagram model posts photos of a brunch they won’t be eating. Perhaps there's something to this PDA-lark, after all. 

The café is a twenty minute walk from Phil’s; with each step, Dan is painfully aware of the unnatural silence bubbled around them. Usually, Phil’s chatter is constant, to the point where Dan rarely needs to interject. Now, he’s quiet, just letting their joined hands swing gently to and fro. Ten minutes pass this way, and Dan can’t take the slew of paranoid thoughts pounding in his mind a second longer.

“I need a cigarette,” he says, digging in his pocket. He finds the pack and draws it out, then pauses, looking pointedly down at Phil’s hand, clasped in his. “Uh..”

Phil is smiling, eyebrows raised, feigning ignorance. “Problem?”

Dan just rolls his eyes, then nudges the pack open with his nose, using his teeth to pluck one of the Djarums out. Phil watches in amusement as he struggles to tuck the pack away, then draw out a lighter and light the end, all with one hand. He manages, just, then shoots Phil a withering look.

“Come on, nerd,” Dan says, smoke streaming through his lips, then tugs on Phil’s hand, and they walk on.

*

When they step over Phil’s threshold, Mrs Lester’s foot is on the bottom stair, just heading up. She turns in surprise, a smile spreading over her tired face. Dan tries not to overthink it when Phil releases his hand at the sight of her, but without it, he feels wobbly, as if it was keeping him balanced.

“Oh, hello boys,” Mrs Lester says. “Did you have a nice-” She stops, gasping, and approaches Dan, hands outstretched. “Oh Dan, honey! Look at you!”

Her small hands cradle his face.

“Oh,” Dan says, remembering. “No, it’s nothing-”

“Phil told me you were in a bit of a tussle,” she says, tutting. Her fingers stroke lightly over the bruises. “I didn’t think it was this bad. You must be more careful with yourself.”

Her words don’t irritate him, surprisingly. Despite her mumsy tone, Dan knows it’s coming from a place of genuine love and concern. Something he forgets Phil’s mum is all too happy to bestow upon him, no questions asked.

“Yeah, I was dumb,” Dan readily admits. “Won’t be doing it again in a hurry.”

She tuts again, but removes her hands from his face, letting them fall to her sides. She turns to Phil. “Look after him, won’t you darling?”

“I will, Mum.”

Mrs Lester sighs, moving back towards the stairs. “I’m just off to bed then, loves. Are you hungry? There’s some dinner left in the fridge.”

Phil glances at Dan questioningly. He leans in close to whisper, “when was the last time you ate?”

Mind blanking, Dan shrugs. “Honestly don’t remember.”

“Thanks, mum,” Phil calls, already headed for the kitchen.

“Thank you, Mrs Lester,” Dan says. “Goodnight.”

“Kath, love,” she reminds him for the umpteenth time. “You’re welcome, of course. Night.”

*

Dan’s hunger had transcended physical sensation until the scent of Kath’s lasagne, heating up in the microwave, filled his nostrils. He eats the slice Phil hands him in seconds, leaning against one of the kitchen counters.

“This is amazing,” Dan says, licking the fork clean. “Your mum’s a genius.”

Phil laughs, still chewing. “You inhaled that.”

“Guess I was starving,” Dan says with a frown, trying to remember the last time he ate a hot meal.

He goes to the sink to wash his bowl, as he’s done countless times in Phil’s kitchen. Just as he’s placed it on the drying rack, he turns to find Phil has crowded up behind him, so close it makes Dan jump. Again, his fingertips tingle, and his heart leaps into his throat.

“Dan,” Phil half-whispers. He brushes Dan's cheek, lightly, just with his fingertips. “Could I…”

The end of the question is lost, because Dan closes the millimetres between their mouths. His mind still swims with questions, with confusion and doubt and anxiety about what this all means, but Phil is gorgeous, and he’s adorably unsure. If Dan could find the courage, which seems to have entirely abandoned him, he’d take Phil upstairs right now and greedily drink down this epiphany he's apparently had in every possible way he could. As it happens, Phil is the one to pull Dan towards the stairs. He abandons his half-eaten meal in favour of leading Dan up to his room, stopping every few seconds to kiss him again. Each press of his lips is preceded by a sweet, hesitant glance into Dan’s eyes, as if to check whether it’s still okay, whether Dan still wants it. His cute, completely redundant nervousness only makes him more difficult to resist. 

Phil closes his bedroom door behind them, softly. Dan sits on his bed, watching as Phil draws the curtains, switches on his bedside lamp, turns off the overhead light. He sits beside Dan once he's run out of tasks, and winds their fingers together again. This time, Dan doesn’t complain. For a few endless moments, they just sit quietly, hands joined. This moment feels climactic somehow, as if they’re supposed to be in the throes of some great passionate exchange that’s been building in all the years they’ve known one another. But Dan, for perhaps the first time, doesn’t want to do anything else just yet. He wants to sit, and make sense of what’s happening, and for Phil to not let go of his hand while he sorts it all out.

He’s not certain, but he thinks Phil might feel very much the same.

“Do you want to watch Buffy?”

Dan lets out a breathy laugh. He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Phil does let go then, but he gives Dan’s hand a squeeze, as if to say it won’t be forever. He gets out some pyjamas for them both, then switches on his TV, pretending to be busy sorting out the settings and wires while Dan gets changed. It takes a lot of willpower not to stare as Phil strips off right in front of him, in light of all that’s happened this evening, but Dan can’t help but feel it’s not quite the time. Phil joins him on the bed, and they turn their attention to the episode beginning, though Dan is quite sure that neither of them are able to focus on a single word. It’s so strange, to do something so familiar, something he’s done with Phil just like this, hundreds of times, and for it to feel totally alien. The negative part of Dan’s brain whispers cruel things to him. 

_Now that you’ve crossed the line of friendship, you can never go back._

He squashes the thought down as best he can, but it doesn’t entirely fade. A minute or so passes, and Phil finds his hand again. It’s soothing, and sweet, so Dan squeezes hard. Phil turns, concerned, and lifts his arm, places it around Dan’s shoulders, pulling him close.

*

As soon as Phil opens his eyes, he knows he is alone. The thought panics him instantly, and he sits bolt upright, not even noticing that his bedroom is still shrouded in darkness, or that his window is cracked open, letting a chill in. He blinks, reaching blindly for his glasses. His stomach lurches, and he curses at himself internally for being so impulsive, for acting so rashly, for scaring Dan off by unloading too much, too quickly. He’s already projecting to where he will start looking for Dan – his house, Ozone, the café – when a movement catches his eye. There’s a small orange glow in the corner by the window. Phil sucks in a breath, the unmistakeable scent of smoky cherry dancing in the frigid air. He freezes, then switches on his bedside light.

The soft, dim light is just enough to illuminate the shape of Dan, sat on the window ledge, smoking out of the open window. It takes a moment for Phil’s eyes to adjust to the sight of him. He’s wearing Phil’s black t-shirt, which is covered in tiny white ghosts. He’s so skinny at the moment that it hangs off him; he looks ethereal himself, like he’s only half here.

“Hey,” Phil says, quietly. “Are you okay?”

Dan turns at the sound of his voice. His expression is haunted. His fingers play with the pearl in his ear. “Couldn’t sleep. Sorry.”

Phil sits up properly, bleary from exhaustion. His stomach is knotted with nerves. “Come back to bed, I’ll stay up and chat with you for a while.”

Dan takes a long drag on his cigarette, then stubs it out, chucking the butt out of the window. “I can’t stop thinking…” Dan starts to say. Phil waits for him to complete the sentence, but he seems to think better of it.

“Tell me,” Phil urges. “Please. Is it too much? Did I overwhelm you?”

Dan swings his legs round, placing his feet on the desk beneath the ledge. He sits there, hands underneath his thighs, deliberating. “That painting you did. Of Amanda. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He pauses, eyes trained on Phil’s carpet. “It took you so long. All that time and energy. I just don’t understand why you would do it if… if you didn’t actually feel that way about her.”

Phil nods, voice fluttery with nerves. “I get why you’d think that.”

Dan’s eyes are distant when he lifts them. “You told me, at the café, that you were just… projecting your feelings for me onto her, right?”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat, strangling his words, though he’s trying his best to hide it. 

Phil nods again. “Right.”

“But if that’s true,” Dan shakes his head. “Wouldn’t it be me you’d painted sky high on a big canvas? It just doesn’t make sense-”

“Can I show you something?” Phil interrupts.

He’s already throwing the covers off himself, feet landing on the soft carpet. He goes to his desk, plucks a sketchbook at random from the dozens stacked about. He hands it to Dan, who takes it wordlessly.

“What’s-”

“Just look inside,” Phil tells him.

He crosses back to sink onto the bed, waiting. He's bone-tired, still - it must be 3am, or thereabouts - but he can feel the importance of this. Dan opens the sketchbook cautiously, clearly puzzled. As he takes in what’s inside, his expression melts into surprise, then awe. The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. He can feel his cheeks pinkening as Dan turns page after page, but it’s worth it.

“How- when did you-”

“I painted one picture of Amanda, and honestly I hated every second,” Phil says, sincerely. “I was trying to get it so perfect, because I felt like it needed to be this… accurate portrait of her, y’know? I don’t paint like that normally. Usually I find something, or someone, to inspire me, and I just let myself run with it.”

“There are so many,” Dan breathes, wide-eyed.

Phil can’t help laughing then. When Dan shoots him a questioning look, he only laughs harder. “Check one of the others. There’s a few stacked on the desk there. Some in the drawers. I’ve got some more in my bag. Couple in the studio, too.”

For a moment, Dan is still. Then, he leans down to pluck another sketchbook from a pile on the desk. He opens it at a random page, balks at the contents, then promptly closes it again. He leans down for a second time, grabbing three more sketchbooks. He looks in each one, flicking through the worn pages like it’s a flipbook.

As he watches Dan, Phil starts to grow uneasy. It occurs to him that perhaps this seems a tad obsessive. Then Dan drops the books to the desk, the sound of them hitting the wood with a thud. He grips the ledge for a second, knuckles white, staring down at the ground. Phil’s breathing quickens, suddenly nervous of Dan’s reaction. Dan clambers down from the ledge one careful foot at a time, crouching on the desk, then sliding to the floor. He crosses the room to Phil, still sat on the bed, and stands before him. His fingers are shaking, Phil notices.

“Phil… what- why would you…” he trails off.

Phil swallows, not sure how to explain without weirding Dan out more. “You’re my muse, Dan. I squeezed out one painting of Amanda that I don’t even like. One that doesn’t represent me at all. I can’t even count the times I’ve drawn you.”

Dan’s lips disappear as he presses them together. “The way you draw me. You make me look…”

“Beautiful,” Phil finishes for him. “Because you are. Every time I look, I see new colours in your eyes. I see you smile in a different way. It’s so inspiring, just watching you, just having you in front of me. I’ve filled so many sketchbooks with you, but I could fill a thousand more, just trying to capture your- your...” Phil flaps a hand in the air, losing the word. “Essence.”

Dan slides a knee onto the bed at Phil’s hip, then brings his other up on the other side, seating himself in Phil’s lap. Phil might have stopped breathing, but he’s too shocked to check. Dan is the kind of severe, electrifying beauty that is almost frightening to behold. The sort of exotic flower you should observe from a safe distance, but never touch, lest it poison you with one prick of its thorns. To have him this close is maddening; his eyes are almost black in the low light, and filled with intensity. He radiates warmth, like a dark, burning star. He smells like sharp, sour cherry, and Phil knows he tastes even better. He wants to slide his hands up Dan’s sides, under the loose ghost t-shirt. He wants to draw Dan towards him, to suck another hickey into his pale skin, to kiss the grey, angry bruises on his face.

Dan’s fingers rake through Phil’s hair. He leans down, pushing their lips together; Phil can feel him tremble. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers in the non-existent space between their mouths.

Hesitantly, Phil lets his hands float to Dan’s sides. He stays on top of the t-shirt though, for now. He wants to get this right; this moment is weighty with the importance of something new and filled with potential. With every sentence he utters to reassure Dan of his feelings, Phil beats another of the demons Dan carries on his bony shoulders back into the shadows. But even now he can feel them watching suspiciously, waiting for a sign that Phil might fuck this all up, so they can spring back to their former positions.

Phil matches that dark, unwavering gaze and doesn’t let himself so much as blink. “You deserve so much more than you believe, Dan.”

Dan kisses him again, and this time Phil tastes salt water, like a thin film between their lips. He winds his arms around Dan’s waist, holding tightly. They kiss for what seems like hours; Dan falls forwards, pushing Phil to the bed, making it too easy to just lose themselves in the taste, the touch of each other. Phil is too afraid to do more than just stroke lightly over Dan’s waist, his arms, his face. Dan too, seems to feel this is more than enough, and keeps his hands in Phil’s hair, then winds them around his neck. Eventually, Phil is not sure when, but they must slow, and then stop. He drifts on the periphery of sleep, fingers trailing across warm skin, the duvet keeping the cold wind from the open window at bay.

“I love you too, by the way,” Dan says into the silence, though perhaps Phil is already dreaming. “I don’t think I said it, before.”

“Hm,” Phil replies. His smile is warm, treacly across his mouth. “That’s good.”

“I might not… say it very much,” Dan warns him, and Phil just smiles wider. “I’m gonna say right off the bat that I doubt I’ll be very good at... all that. But I do, I promise.”

“Do what?” Phil is almost asleep, sure, but he’s still got enough energy to tease Dan a little.

Dan swats him in the arm. “Fuck off, once was hard enough.”

Phil prods him in the ribs. “Dan, what do you promise?”

Dan sighs. There’s a silence, and Phil wonders if maybe he won’t be able to summon the courage to utter it a second time, if maybe he’s fallen asleep. Then, there’s the light graze of cherry scented lips by his ear, and the silky warm rush of Dan’s breath as he whispers: “I love you, nerd.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my God, Dan.” Phil, for some reason, is laughing, though there’s an exasperated tinge to it. “No. I didn’t change my mind, wow. You still don’t believe that you’re the one I want, do you?”
> 
> Dan swallows around an ashy taste, hands bunched in his small jeans pockets. “Not really, no.”

“...hands down, the most disgusting, sickeningly romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Louise finishes. She’s doing the stock-take, an activity that requires concentration, and should leave no room for harassing co-workers; Louise, single mother of two, is unfortunately scarily good at multi-tasking. “It’s like something out of a cheesy 80’s rom-com! I mean, I always knew Phil was mad over you, but I never thought he’d-”

“You what?” Dan stops buttering the sandwiches he’s preparing.

Louise glances over her shoulder, blonde curls bouncing down her back. “Come on Daniel.  How often is he in here, following you about, when he could be doing literally anything else? I run a great cafe, but I know all too well from your perpetually sour face that this place isn’t exactly a haven for teenage boys.”

Dan can feel himself getting warmer. “I don’t think that’s why he was...”

The customer bell dings then, so Dan’s pathetic response peters out into nothing, which is probably for the best. It’s so difficult to wrap his head around the idea that all this time, Dan could have been the blind one. Sighing at his own stupidity, Dan peels off his latex gloves and heads out to the customer counter. He stops short at the sight of a beautiful girl, lashes blinking slowly around her chestnut brown eyes. At the sight of Dan, a sweet, sultry smile spreads over her peach lips. 

“Hi, Dan,” Amanda says.

Out of habit, a residual hatred surges up, almost enough to choke him, but Dan successfully presses it back, reminding himself that she is blameless in all the upset she obliviously caused. He takes a deep breath, gripping onto this thought. “Amanda. Hey.”

There are two younger boys, both engaged in a vicious-looking slap-fight, just behind her. There’s something about their cat-like eyes, or the way their features sit, that resembles her. 

“I was hoping you’d be here,” she says to Dan, drawing his attention back from the boys.

“Yes, despite Hardy’s best efforts I live to serve overpriced lattes another day,” Dan quips. 

“Oh God, what did he do now?” 

“Came in earlier today with his dad,” Dan says. “Mr Jenns asked me to break down the progress report, so Hardy took it upon himself to point out how my ‘sub-par work ethic’ might be slowing business.” **  
**

“Shit,” Amanda sighs. “He’s such a dick.”

Dan shrugs. “S’cool. I just made sure to ask him how his nose was healing, and how he’d better be more careful in future ‘gym sessions’.”

Amanda laughs, the sound high and clear, like a sleigh bell. “Nice. Bet he backed off pretty quick.”

“Yeah,” Dan says vaguely. He decides not to mention the mocking kiss he blew to Hardy as he left, which had tinged Hardy’s face a little greenish before he bolted through the back door.

Amanda smiles; it’s dazzling. “Serves him right.” She pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which is conspicuously devoid of an earring. Suddenly, the pearls in Dan’s ears feel heavy enough to drag him to the ground. “So, I hear congratulations are in order!” Amanda’s smile is genuine, but Dan could drown in the awkward atmosphere her words stir up. “The whole town’s buzzing with the news of you two lovebirds.”

One of the boys at Amanda’s back shoves the other into the glass counter, rattling it. Amanda turns to them, her pretty smile vanishing into the irritated frown she directs their way. “Will you pack it in for two seconds, Jake? I’m trying to have a conversation.”

“Aidan’s doing that stupid voice again,” Jake, the taller boy, complains.

“I don’t care, just stop behaving like a pair of crazed chimpanzees. We’re in public,” Amanda says. “Go sit down if you’re that restless.”

They immediately run off to do this, hurtling through the tables, tripping over people’s bags and chair legs as they make their way to the vacant sofas in the back.

She rolls her eyes, turning back to Dan. She looks tired, Dan notices. Her dark circles are visible through whatever concealer she’s wearing. “Sorry. I’m looking after my little brothers today. In case you hadn’t noticed, they’re morons.”

Dan nods. “Aren’t we all?”

She barks a cute little laugh. “Guess you’re right.” She sighs heavily, then gives Dan an exhausted smile. “So, as I was saying, you and Phil-”

“Can I get you a coffee?” Dan interrupts, the tips of his ears burning.

For the life of him, Dan cannot understand Amanda’s logic, coming in here today. Whilst Dan mostly could not give less fucks about what random people are saying about he and Phil, he imagines that for someone like Amanda Jones, being the centre of a scandal like this could be extremely damaging for her carefully sculpted Elite reputation. Surely, if she had any desire to preserve her status as Queen Bee of St Anthony’s, she’d wait out the storm of gossip and speculation by holing up somewhere out of the public eye. Even now, the few people Dan vaguely recognises as fellow students, scattered about the cafe, have their eyes trained on his and Amanda’s exchange, all of them whispering animatedly, ravenous for more drama in the love triangle of the week.

“I guess I’d better get the terrible twosome a hot chocolate,” Amanda answers, oblivious to Dan’s racing mind. She digs into her small pink handbag and pulls out a coin purse, which she then empties onto the counter between them. It’s mostly copper coins, which doesn’t look promising. “How much is an Americano?”

“One-ninety,” Dan answers, watching her count out the coins.

She frowns. “Do you charge extra for soya milk?”

“Fifty pence, yeah.”

She lets out a long sigh, fingers carding through her curls. “I’ll skip that, then. Just a black Americano. Small. And a hot chocolate.”

“Just one hot chocolate?”

“Yeah,” she says, avoiding his eye. “Jake and Aidan can share, they won’t mind.”

As she pushes the pile of coins towards him, Dan flicks his gaze to the back of the room, where her brothers sit, squabbling on the sofa. He can’t imagine they’ll share Amanda’s ‘sharing is caring’ view. He looks down at the change on the counter, feeling uneasy. 

Not allowing himself to overthink it, Dan leaves the change where it is, and turns to make the drinks. He adds a generous splash of soya milk to the Americano, then makes two hot chocolates with extra cream and marshmallows. 

“On me,” he says, pushing the tray of drinks at her.

She arches one of her sculpted eyebrows. “You don’t need to do me any favours, Dan.”

“Actually,” Dan says, and clears his throat, which feels scorched with awkward embarrassment. “I think I do. I don’t know exactly what you said to Phil. But it must have been pretty profound. You didn’t have to do that. Not sure I’d have the same sense of selflessness, in your shoes.” 

“I can see why you’d say that,” she says, chin tucked in. “Honestly, a week ago, I might’ve kept him for myself. Let him think he was really head over heels for some random girl he barely knew. But he wouldn’t shut up about you. And I just thought, in the end...” she lifts her eyes from the counter, defiant. “I’d rather be alone for the right reasons, than with someone for the wrong ones.” 

Dan swallows, nodding once. He shifts from foot to foot. “Well, thanks.”

He still refuses to meet her eye, but he can sense her smiling. “Thanks for punching my bonehead ex-boyfriend in his big, dumb face.”

Dan snorts. “Anytime.”

“Might hold you to that.”

She scoops the change off the counter into her tiny, cupped palm and pours it back into her purse, then takes the tray. Just to look at her, it seems unlikely that she’d be able to lift it an inch, but she takes it with a sure, steady grip. Dan’s about to head back to the kitchen to finish the sandwiches, when he hears Amanda call his name. He turns to her, heart speeding up. 

She’s looking uncertain, white teeth resting on her lower lip. “Is Phil going to be around today, do you know?”

Dan’s heart stutters. “Why? I mean, I don’t know. Maybe. Did you… want him for something?”

The wait for her to respond is agony.

“I just wanted to talk to him.” 

Either Jake or Aidan split the uncomfortable silence with a shrill shriek. Amanda swivels towards them, exasperated. 

“Never mind,” she tells Dan, already on her way over to them. “I’ll catch him at some point, I’m sure.”

Dan says nothing, just watching her diffuse the brotherly battle by handing out hot chocolates. As he butters bread and half-listens to Louise’s inane prattling, he tries not to dwell on her parting words, tries not to imagine the worst thing she could possibly want to say to Phil, in the aftermath of all that’s happened, but his mind has never been sensible or rational that way.  

_I think you made a mistake, Phil._

_I think you and I are meant for each other._

_Why would you want him when you could have me?_

*

At around two o’clock, Dan is about to shake Louise by the shoulders to stop her ranting about how Phil’s gesture had been  _almost_  perfect, but could have been improved with a poem recital, or a bouquet of roses, or a serenade. 

“Not that I’ll ever have anything anywhere near as romantic as that happen to me,” she’s saying. “But I just think if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right-”

And then, blissfully, incredibly, the bell tinkles above the door, and Phil walks in, a pure, ethereal Angel in a ridiculous Gengar beanie. Dan could vault the counter and throw himself into Phil’s arms at the mere sight of him. 

Phil sidles up to the counter, all bright smiles. Dan is just fighting the mortifying grin threatening to burst forth when, like a freight train slamming into his brain, he remembers who is sat on the sofas at the back of the room. Creeping, nauseating dread curls and writhes in his gut; he daren’t look towards Amanda, just in case she’s seen. 

Noticing nothing amiss, Phil taps the customer bell, looks straight into Dan’s eyes and says, “Caramel macchiato, made by your cutest barista, please.”

Dan hasn’t seen him since this morning, when he’d woken Phil with a hand on his shoulder, and a soft whisper to tell him he had to get to work. Phil had smiled sleepily at him, eyes half shut, and clung on to Dan’s shirt until Dan gave in and kissed him goodbye.  _“You’ll see me in like four hours, nerd. Get a grip.”_

Just as it was this morning, after said kiss was bestowed, Dan’s attempt to suppress the smile creeping on to his face is near futile. “PJ’s off today,” he says. 

“Ah, shame,” Phil says, inching towards him. “Guess I’ll have to settle for you, then.”

Before Dan can scrounge up any further witty retorts, Phil kisses him, leaning right over the counter in what must be a very uncomfortable position. Dan allows it for a few seconds, then pulls away.

“Christ, I’m at work,” he says, turning to the coffee machine to hide his red cheeks.

“Can’t help myself,” Phil sighs, digging into his pocket for cash. “Think it’s the sexy apron. Maybe it’s because I’m such a fan of baking. Or baked goods, anyway.”

“I made some flapjacks yesterday.” Dan tries to keep his voice nonchalant, as though he hasn’t purposefully put a few aside for Phil already. “Might be some spare in the back, I could check.”

Phil makes an obscene noise, which makes Dan chuckle. “You’re the best person in the world.”

Just as Dan is pouring the foam, a light, clear voice pierces the hubbub of noise; a songbird in the midst of a rainstorm.

“Phil?” 

Dan spills milk foam onto the floor, cursing. He puts the jug down, turning to the source, heart thrumming already. Phil turns too, his smile fading as he registers who it is, sat just across the room. Dan can only watch, horrified, as Amanda sends him a small, uncertain wave.

Immediately, Phil takes a step towards her. Without thinking, Dan lunges forwards and reaches across the counter to grab his wrist, stopping him. He snatches his hand back immediately, mortified by his own ridiculous action, but Phil seems chastened by it, and remains rooted to the spot.

“Sorry,” Dan blurts. Blood roars in his ears. He feels unsteady, as if his existing world is merely a set, the paper-thin walls about to cave in any second. “Go, um. Go see her, I’ll just... I’ll finish your coffee.” 

“I don’t have to talk to her,” Phil says, voice low and soothing. It only makes Dan feel even more pathetic. “Do you not want me to?”

“No, no, it’s totally cool.” Dan coughs, turning away, pretending to search for a cloth to clean up the spillage. His eyes are stinging for some reason, so he rubs them with the back of his hand. “Do whatever you want. I’m fine.”

Phil’s hands spread out on the counter. “Dan, hey. Don’t stress. I’ll just tell her it’s not a good time.”

Dan swallows, dropping the paper towels he’s found to the floor, then using his foot to mop up the foam. “I don’t think any time is gonna be a good time.”

Before Phil can answer, Amanda taps him on the shoulder. Dan’s shoulders sink at the sight of her. She’s got her coat on now, and her brothers are flanking her, each wearing an irritable, sulky expression. Aidan, the younger, squatter boy, has a perfect ring of dried chocolate around his mouth. 

“Amanda,” Phil says. There’s a stunned look in his eyes that Dan wishes he could erase from his memory the second he clocks it. Phil looks down at the two boys, managing a smile. “Hey, Jake, hey Aidan.”

“Hi,” they mutter, almost indistinctly.

Just knowing that Phil is on a first-name basis with Amanda’s family after only a few days is a sucker-punch Dan hadn’t seen coming. He and Phil have been friends for years, and before the other morning, Phil had never even spoken to Ricky, or his mum.

“I’m gonna go,” Amanda says, throwing Dan an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea to come here so soon after…” she flicks her eyes between them both. “Well. I’m just sorry. We can talk some other time, maybe.”

“Okay, sure,” Phil says; he's got a hand outstretched on the counter still, as if he’s feeling out for Dan, making sure he hasn’t bolted. “Another time might be better.”

She smiles at Phil, sadly. Then, she turns to Dan, her brown eyes glittering. “They look better on you, by the way.”

The blood still growls in his eardrums. “What?”

She gestures to her ears. “Tahitian pearls. They’re supposed to give hope to wounded hearts, some people say.” She shrugs. “I don’t really buy into all that. But they look amazing. Could’ve been made for you.”

Dan doesn’t get a chance to respond to this out-of-the-blue comment, because Amanda swiftly takes Aidan’s hand, and with Jake on her tail, heads for the door. Like a burst of monsoon rain, the stillness she leaves in her wake is huge and deafening. Dan’s just scrambling for something to say when Louise approaches, looking harangued. 

“Everything alright out here? I smell spilled milk. Oh, Phil!” She brightens at once. “Dan and I were just dissecting your big announcement-”

“Yeah, hi Lou.” Phil sends her one of his most charming smiles, glossing over his marginally rude interruption. “I was wondering, could I steal Dan for his break now?”

*

Dan reaches into the pack for a third cigarette, but Phil slaps his hand, then swipes the pack from him.

“Hey!”

“You’re becoming a chimney,” Phil scolds, pocketing the packet. “I don’t want you dying of cancer when I’ve only just got you.”

Dan’s blunt fingernails drag against the rough brick wall behind him. He won’t protest, despite his severe craving to inhale the whole pack; he’s the one who dragged Phil out here, to the smoking area behind the cafe, despite the fact it’s cold enough to see his and Phil’s breaths misting from their chattering mouths. The least he can do is not suffocate the poor man with his chain-smoking. 

“Do you wanna go back inside?”

“No,” Phil says after a moment. “Let’s stay here. I think we should talk alone for a bit.”

The fierce, burning culmination of his earlier dread shoots, like adrenaline, through each of Dan’s limbs. “Oh. So, you’ve changed your mind?”

Phil, leant on the wall beside him, turns, confused. “Changed my mind?”

“I get it.” Dan shrugs. The words are spitting from his mouth like bullets. “Even I forget how gorgeous Amanda is in person. And funny. And sweet. I get it. You feel like you acted too quickly, calling it off with her. Just tell me now and we’ll pretend like we didn’t even happen-”

“Oh my God, Dan.” Phil, for some reason, is laughing, though there’s an exasperated tinge to it. “No. I didn’t change my mind, wow. You still don’t believe that you’re the one I want, do you?”

Dan swallows around an ashy taste, hands bunched in his small jeans pockets. “Not really, no.”

Phil shimmies closer along the wall. He hooks his little finger into Dan’s front pocket. He’s being gentle, timid, as if Dan is a wild, stray cat, poised to flee.

“It’s okay,” Phil says. “I’ll convince you.”

Dan side-eyes him, then lets out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being a total freak. You can talk to her. I just… I dunno.”

Dan looks skyward, frustrated as ever with his own ineptitude at articulating his feelings. It comes from a lifetime of repressing any emotion, lest he have the shit beaten out of him. Now, all Dan has to work with are a jumble of confusing, tumultuous things flying around, like bats, in his dark, shadowy brain, and only an old, broken net to try and catch them.

“I know,” Phil says then, and somehow Dan thinks he does. “It’s like she said. You and her are so similar, when you think about it. Add a few tattoos and piercings and she’s basically you. And I’m mad about you. Of course you’d be threatened by her.”

Dan snorts. “ _Mad_  about me?”

“Yeah.” Phil grins. “You drive me mad constantly.”

“Feeling’s mutual, mate.”

Phil elbows him in the side, which releases a strange, bubbly laugh from Dan’s chest. 

“So, are you still upset or do I need to stroke your fragile ego a bit more?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You’re such a pain.”

“You love it,” Phil says, and Dan chooses to remain silent. “Hey, how long left of your break?”

Dan pulls out his phone. “Ten minutes.”

“Cool,” Phil pushes off of the wall and steps in front of Dan. He takes him by the hands and places them around his neck. “Let’s make out.”

Dan huffs a laugh. “‘scuse me?”

He doesn’t get a chance to say much else.

*

Half term is over, not that Dan had much of a holiday, as he spent every day working doubles at the café. Nonetheless, Dan is once again ambling down the shiny linoleum corridors to Phil’s locker, where they meet up every morning before class. He can’t help but notice however, that this term, there are significantly more stares directed his way. And it’s not because of his bruised face, as that’s nearly faded completely by now. He tries to ignore it, head down, earphones in like always, but he can still feel the prick of each beady gaze against his skin. 

He reaches Phil’s locker, which is deserted, and directs his gaze at his phone, scrolling through his latest playlist to avoid anyone’s eye. He jerks when he feels a tap on his right shoulder and turns, only to find nobody there.

When he turns to the left, Phil is grinning at his side. “Ha. Sucker.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Hey.”

Phil slings his backpack down his shoulder and unzips it. Then, suddenly, he is hauling out a load of bright red packets, and shoving them into Dan’s arms. Still half asleep, Dan drops a few to the floor in surprise. As he bends to collect the ones that fell, he realises that he’s, for some reason, now struggling to hold maybe twenty packs of Skittles. 

“What the fuck?”

Phil jabs a finger at him, then snatches one of the packets. “Let it be known that Lesters follow through with their promises.” 

“Fuck’s sake, we said five, not fifty! What am I supposed to do with them all?” Dan is attempting to shove some into his pockets, but he’s running out of room. “I don’t even have a bag.”

“I just thought, given the change in circumstances, I’d add a little interest to the original offer,” Phil says, grinning widely. He’s ripping into the packet he’s taken, already. “If you need help getting rid of some...”

Dan sends him a withering look, but it doesn’t last long. Annoying as the gesture might be, it could be considered pretty cute, if you squint. He gets the impression that ‘annoying but disarmingly cute’ might be a common theme in Phil’s future romantic attempts.

“Hey, Dan.” Phil tilts his head back, then pours a load of skittles into his mouth. When he re-centres on Dan, mouth full, he asks, “wanna taste the rainbow?”

Dan has just enough time to roll his eyes and scoff at Phil’s stupid cheesy line, and then he’s being kissed. It should be gross, tasting the second-hand fruity, chemical flavour of the skittles on Phil’s tongue. It’s a testament to how much Dan loves Skittles, or maybe how fucked he truly is for this infuriating man, that he actually loves the taste. 

After a minute or so, he gathers himself together, and pushes Phil off, embarrassed. “Dude,” he chastises. “We’re in school.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot what a stickler for the rules you are,” Phil jokes, swallowing Skittles. He pulls open his locker, chuckling.

Dan glances about at the people lurking nearby. Several of them giggle as they notice him looking. One girl makes a kissy face at him.

“That’s not what I mean.” Dan pauses, deliberating the response. “You don’t mind people… seeing?”

The very tip of Phil’s tongue pokes out as he rummages in the alarmingly tall pile of books stacked in his locker. It looks dangerously close to toppling over. Phil yanks out the one he’s looking for and slams the locker shut before the inevitable avalanche.

“Seeing what?”

Dan shrugs. “You and me.”

Phil frowns at him. “Of course not. You’re gorgeous, and I get to kiss you.”

Dan flushes. “Um.”

“Do you mind people seeing?”

Dan pauses, looking into Phil’s sweet, concerned face. It takes literal seconds to snap himself out of his ridiculous paranoia. “No,” he replies. “Guess I really don’t.”

Phil smiles, and takes hold of Dan’s hand. “Stop sulking, then.”

*

“Did you have sex with her?”

Phil chokes on one of the soggy-looking chips he’s eating. “Dan!”

“I have to know.”

Dan’s fingers drum on the cafeteria table. His fingernails are bitten back to their beds. Last night, he slept in his own home for the first time in over a week. Half term had been crappy during the daylight hours, but Dan spent a pretty glorious six nights in Phil’s room, watching Buffy, eating Kath’s glorious cooked dinners, and exploring the inside of Phil’s mouth beneath the covers of his bed in the wee hours. 

Inevitably, however, Dan had to go home. Mostly because he’d run out of clean underwear, but also because he needs to not fuck this up. Getting with Phil is the best thing that’s happened to him that he can remember for a long time. Dan is determined not to ruin things by crowding him so much that Phil grows sick of him in a matter of days. Whilst this plan is reasonable in theory, the reality is that if Dan is not having a lovely time at Phil’s, he has to go home. And being home brings all kinds of problems of its own. After fending off probing, awful questions from his mum and then arguing with Ricky in the five minutes before he leaves for the pub, Dan just throws himself into bed, usually only able to lie awake for hours overthinking things.

Featured last night on Dan’s paranoid thoughts playlist:  _Could Phil have somehow sneakily fitted in a virginity removal with Amanda Jones in the three days or so they were official?_

Phil looks around the immediate chorus of tables; nobody is paying much attention to them, aside from the usual half-stare Dan’s been growing steadily used to having on him at all times these days.

“No,” Phil says eventually. Dan could scream with relief. His fingers continue to drum; Phil’s eyes move to them, then he places a hand on top. “Think you need a cigarette.”

“I’m trying to cut down,” Dan tells him with a sigh. 

This news seems to brighten Phil’s expression for a moment. “You are? That’s awesome.” All too soon, it drops back into concern. “Why’d you ask me that?”

Dan lifts a shoulder to his ear. “If I didn’t ask, I’d probably go nuts wondering. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Phil says. Dan can tell that he’s trying to wrap his head around Dan’s insane way of thinking; Dan wants to shout at him, wants to yell that he’ll never get to grips with it, because it doesn’t make sense. Still, Phil beams a sweet smile his way. “I’m pure, I promise.”

At this, Dan snorts. He says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. Pale pink dusts along  Phil’s cheeks.

“Well, okay, maybe not wholly pure,” Phil allows, stuffing another chip into his mouth. “But I’d prefer not to count...  _that_. At least not once we…”

For a moment, basking in those tantalising, unspoken words, Dan’s worries are all chased away. He leans in towards Phil, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Once we…?”

Phil swats him in the shoulder, the pink in his cheeks darkening. “You know.”

Dan aims a look of amusement into his can of Diet Coke. The caffeine is probably not helping with the anxiety and lack of nicotine/sleep. He pushes it away. “Okay,” Dan says, touching a little finger to Phil’s, because he’s still looking vaguely uncomfortable at the mention of their fumble in the dark. “We’ll start fresh.”

Phil sends Dan a grateful smile, then goes back to his chips. 

*

It’s Friday, and Dan has seriously had it with the staring. Groups of gawping teenagers from all years eye him unabashedly as he walks between classes. He senses the notes passing in class, hears the whispers across cafeteria tables. In Chemistry, it’s at its worst. That’s the lab he and Phil are partners; it’s as if they’re a zoo exhibit, the way people point and whisper. It’s so disconcerting that Dan actively tries to keep a moderate distance between he and Phil. He sits on his hands so Phil can’t hold them, and scoots his stool to the other end of the bench. It's possible he overcompensates a touch, because after class, Phil drags him to one side, worried something’s wrong.

“No, no, sorry,” Dan assures him. “I’m just getting creeped out.”

Phil looks alarmed. “By me?”

“No,” Dan says quickly. “Not what I mean. The staring. You must have noticed it.” 

“Ah,” Phil says, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. I forgot you don’t really like being… the centre of attention.”

Dan blows a puff of air upwards. “It’s just gonna take some getting used to.”

“The excitement will wear off eventually,” Phil assures him. “They’ll get bored of us. I can dial back the PDA until we’re old news if you want.”

Dan gives him a look of disbelief, then nods to their joined hands. “I don’t think that’s within your capability, no offence.”

Phil laughs. “Yeah, maybe not. Can’t help it. You’re too pretty.”

“ _Phil,_ ” Dan says, cheeks warming.

“Hey, meet me by my locker at lunch,” Phil says, eyes twinkling. “I’ll cheer you up.”

*

Dan gets to Phil’s locker five minutes after the bell, and all that’s waiting for him is a slip of paper, jammed into the door hinge. Despite the overwhelming sensation that, just as Louise suggested, he’s in a literal teen romcom, Dan plucks the paper out as discreetly as he can.

_Find me in the gym,_

_soon as you can,_

_have something to ask u._

_Phil xx_

_P.S ur cute_

Dan shakes his head, smile playing on his mouth, and scrunches up the paper,  shoving into his back pocket. He ignores the curious stares directed his way and heads for the gym, marvelling at just how completely whipped he is for a guy who wears actual Pokémon merch daily and thinks it’s completely acceptable.

He has to wait for the opportune moment to slip into the gym unseen. Teachers patrol the corridors during break times, and the gym is out of bounds without supervision. Somehow, Dan manages to grab a moment when the coast is clear, and pulls the door open just a little, to slip inside. As ever, the foul scent of basketball rubber and dried sweat smacks into him. The enormous room is totally dark, but Dan still feels conspicuous stepping across the squeaky floor.

“Phil?” Dan calls out, though it’s more of a whisper.

“Over here,” Phil calls back, apparently unconcerned with anyone overhearing. “Come towards the mats.”

Done with being blind, Dan pulls out his phone and switches on the torch. He shines it in the direction of Phil’s voice, and spots a large tower of spongy blue gym mats, piled higher than his own head. He goes towards it, squinting, and then spots movement at the top.

“Are you on top of the mats?” Dan asks, bewildered.

“Aw, you cheated!”

“What the fuck are you doing? Get down.”

“Nope,” Phil says, poking his head over to look down at Dan. He has to shield his eyes from the bright light Dan is shining at him. “Come up.”

“I’m not enabling your madness,” Dan tells him. “Your mysterious question can be asked standing on the ground.”

Phil groans dramatically, rolling onto his back, so only the shock of his black hair is visible, peeking over the edge of the stack. “You’re so boring, just get up here.”

“Boring?” Dan exclaims, then pockets his phone, defiant. “I am not fucking boring.”

He’s already finding the ridges in the badly stacked gym mats in order to scale them. Dan hasn’t done P.E, let alone any other form of non-sexual exercise, in several years (turns out spotting your closeted lesbian P.E teacher snogging a skinny, female bartender in the back room of Ozone provides enough blackmail material to get out of doing any sport for the entirety of secondary school) so it takes him a little longer to climb up than it otherwise might, but eventually he manages. Phil grabs hold of his arm to haul him up once he’s close enough; he actually  _enjoys_  P.E, the freak.

Breathing hard, Dan turns to Phil. His torch is still on, in his back pocket, so Dan plucks it out, shining it around them. “So, I’m up. What now?”

“I dunno, we make out?” Phil grins, then swipes the phone from Dan and shuts off the torch.

“Hey!” Dan protests. “C’mon, it’s pitch black. You won’t even be able to find my mouth.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and then a fluttery, feather-light kiss presses against the base of Dan’s throat. It makes him jump, rather embarrassingly. Two hands snake around his shoulders from behind, reaching down Dan’s chest to draw back the lapels of his jacket, then pulling it down his arms. “Maybe I don’t need to find your mouth,” Phil murmurs. 

Lips still hovering over Dan’s neck, the breath from Phil’s words skims over his erratic pulse. Dan closes his eyes against the vibrant sensation, letting his jacket be removed entirely. As the soft, damp cushion of Phil’s lips pushes over and over along the line of his throat, Dan feels his breaths becoming shorter, punchier. At the first unmistakable scrape of teeth, he gasps. Phil laughs at him; the feel of the warm, condensed rush of air over his skin ignites something in Dan, has him reaching for Phil properly, dragging him in for a kiss.

Phil slips his hands into Dan’s hair, all too keen to follow along with the change of direction. As the kiss deepens, Dan starts to notice an insistence, a hunger, in Phil. He’s using tongue, more than normal, and his hands are wandering down Dan’s back, slipping over his waist. Intrigued by this new behaviour, Dan remains pliant and willing, letting Phil push him backwards against the mat, until Dan is basically underneath him.

“D-did you bring me up here just to make out with me?” Dan stutters between kisses.

“Kinda,” Phil answers, smiling against Dan’s lips. “Not just that, though. Wanted to ask you something,” Phil murmurs. One of his hands slips, teasingly, under the hem of Dan’s t-shirt.

“Y-yeah?”

Dan has no idea how Phil is suddenly so adept at seduction. Far from complaining, Dan can’t help but think that if Phil doesn’t let up with the intensity soon, he’s not going to be able to remain in control of his physical responses.

Phil takes Dan’s lip between his teeth, then releases him. It makes Dan want to groan. “My mum’s away this weekend.”

A fond amusement sweeps through Dan then; the realisation of Phil’s actions pushes a laugh from this throat. “Oh, is she now?”

“Mmhmm,” Phil practically purrs, lips sweeping over Dan’s jaw, making him shiver. “Was wondering if you might wanna… come stay?”

“Stay all weekend?” Dan asks, then gasps as Phil’s mouth closes over his earlobe, tongue playing teasingly with the black pearl there. “Unsupervised?”

Phil laughs; it vibrates through Dan, sending goosebumps rippling over his skin. “Three day sleepover.”

“Depends,” Dan says. “I need incentive. Will there be pillow fights? Truth or Dare? S’mores?”

“Hmm, not sure about that.”

“What activities do you have planned for us on this three day sleepover, then?”

Phil licks a stripe up Dan’s neck. “Well, I thought I could give you another hickey, to match the one you’ve got.”

“I don’t have a hickey,” Dan says, shortly before realising he’s an idiot as Phil bites down, making him shriek. “Fuck,” Dan says, eyes squeezed shut against the incredible sensation of Phil’s teeth and tongue, sucking a bruise into his pale skin for the second time.

He manages to remain in control of himself for a while, but Phil is relentless, so Dan has to drag him off eventually, sealing their mouths together just for some relief. It’s at this moment, both of them laughing, pawing at each other as they trade messy kisses, that the awful, fluorescent strip lights flicker and buzz, then switch on, flooding the room with light.

“Alright, who’s in here?”

“Shit,” Dan says quietly, flopping back onto the mat. He recognises the voice at once. “Mr Richardson.”

Phil, for some reason, just looks amused. “Shh,” he says to Dan. “If we’re quiet, maybe we can get away with it.”

“I can see your feet on top of the mats,” Mr Richardson calls out, blowing all the smoke away from that pipe dream. “Get down immediately.”

Dan sighs to Phil, then mimes for him to stay put. He shimmies to the edge of the gym mat tower, and clambers down, landing in front of Mr Richardson with a smile.

“Sir, what a surprise,” Dan says.

“Mr Howell,” Mr Richardson says, gruffly. “I wish I could say the same. Alright, who’ve you got with you today?”

“It’s just me, Sir,” Dan says, trying to hold his gaze. “Just thought I’d come somewhere quiet to-”

“You have a talent for many things, Mr Howell,” Mr Richardson interrupts. “Disobeying rules, vandalising, skipping school, talking back to your superiors, to name a few. Despite that, I highly doubt that you are able to give yourself such a large and noticeable lovebite.”

Dan hears the faint sound of Phil snickering at the word ‘lovebite’, the idiot.

Dan just grins at his teacher. “I’m very flexible, Sir.”

Mr Richardson sighs heavily, turning from Dan to call upwards. “Whoever you are, please get down from there at once, unless you’d prefer I call the caretaker for use of his stepladder.”

Phil scoots to the side of the mats and awkwardly climbs down, a guilty smile on his face. “Sorry, Mr Richardson.”

The look on Mr Richardson’s face is utter disappointment. “Mr Lester. I see Dan has finally dragged you to the dark side. I must say I expected better judgement.”

“It was my idea to sneak in here, Sir,” Phil replies, to Dan’s astonishment.

“ _Phil!_ ”

“Dan was just an innocent victim in my trespassing plot,” he continues. “I’m the miscreant here, not him.”

Mr Richardson rolls his eyes. “Forgive me if I doubt the truth of that statement. This is hardly the first time I have found Mr Howell in a compromising position on school grounds.”

Dan looks at his shoes, hoping Phil already suspected that on some level, so it doesn’t come as a huge shock to learn Dan’s sluttiness extends to school hours as well as beyond. “Sir, just give Phil a warning, he’s not-”

“Kindly allow me to dole out the punishments, Mr Howell. I am the teacher, not you.”

Dan stays quiet, but sighs.

“Detention today, and for the whole of next week,” Mr Richardson says after a moment of deliberation. “Both of you.”

“What?” Dan exclaims. “Sir, that’s ridiculous!”

Phil’s fingers close around his wrist, and Dan falls quiet.

“I’ll hear no more about this,” Mr Richardson says, flapping his hands at them both to get them moving towards the door. “I should hope it goes without saying that fornication on school grounds is absolutely not permitted.”

“Oh come on, we were hardly  _fornicating_ ,” Dan says as he’s ushered towards the door. “Can’t you just give Phil a slap on the wrist? It’s his first offence, probably ever!”

“If I found him with anyone else, Mr Howell, I might,” Mr Richardson replies, voice stern. “What Mr Lester must learn from this, however, is that involving himself with cases such as yours is inevitably a taxing and unrewarding exercise.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil laughs again; his cheeks have turned pink. He flicks the popcorn kernel away. “Look, I’m sure Russell’s great in bed. Fantastic, maybe. But right now, I only wanna have sex with you.”

**From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:23pm**  
_Can I have the weekend off?_

 **From: Louise  
To: Dan  
13:24pm**  
_This better be a damn joke_

 **From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:25pm**  
_I worked the entire school  
holiday! Double shifts!_

 **From: Louise  
To: Dan  
13:25pm**  
_You also skived off two shifts_  
_to go get beat up by some rich_  
 _kid_

 **From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:27pm**  
_Please._

 **From: Louise  
To: Dan  
13:30pm**  
_ughhhhhhHHHH FINE. I will_  
_give you today and Saturday off._  
 _Only because you never ask so_  
 _I assume ur either violently ill_  
 _or have a serious dick appointment._

 **From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:32pm**  
_:D thanks. srsly._

 **From: Louise  
To: Dan  
13:33pm**  
_I expect details._

 **From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:34pm**  
_Don’t suppose I could wrangle  
Sunday too?_

 **From: Louise  
To: Dan  
13:34pm**  
_Don’t push it, Howell._

 **From: Dan  
To: Louise  
13:40pm**  
_xxx_

*

Despite his best efforts to remain cool and aloof, there eventually comes a point where Dan truly can’t resist looking over his shoulder any longer. He half-expects Phil to be looking right back at him. Instead, Phil is hunched over the small wooden desk in front of him, scrawling onto a pad of paper. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, a tiny pink rose petal, resting on the jut of his lower lip. Just then, Phil looks up, as if he can sense Dan’s break in resolve. His eyes are shining with excitement, which makes no sense, as they are stuck in detention with Mr Richardson for at least another twenty minutes.

Furtively, Phil looks to the front of the room, where Mr Richardson is steadfastly refreshing his LinkedIn page, and then back to Dan. He lifts the pad up to show him, beaming. Centre of the page is a pencil drawing of Dan, slumped over his desk, forehead resting on his hands, in the exact position he’d been in until about a minute ago. Dan rolls his eyes, mouthing ‘creeper’.

Phil puts the pad down, then holds up an index finger to Dan, a signal for him to wait a moment. Dan sighs, pretending that keeping his eyes trained on Phil is some great effort. Truthfully, he’s incredibly grateful for Phil’s presence here. Dan has spent a great deal of time in this very chair, at this very desk, wishing for any kind of distraction or entertainment. Usually he wishes for something banal, like Mr Richardson’s pen exploding, or the stoner kid who sometimes sits in the corner desk to catch his dreads on fire with the lighter he’s always flicking under the desk. But having Phil here is a miracle that Dan had never so much as dared to dream about. He’s a gorgeous beacon of pure light, sat just the other side of the room, all too happy to return Dan’s mildly creepy staring. He holds the pad up to Dan again; this time, there’s a message on it.

_Still up for coming over for the weekend?  
After work obvs. _

_P.S ur cute_

_xx_

Shaking his head, Dan mouths ‘no work today’. The joy of this news lights Phil’s eyes an even more radiant blue. Dan lets the smile teetering on the edge of his mouth fall across his face. A cough startles Dan out of the moment, and he turns to the front of the classroom in time to watch as Mr Richardson strides down the few desks towards Phil. He lifts the pad close to his nose to read it, then sighs heavily.

“Touching,” he says, drily. “But I think Daniel can wait to hear how ‘cute’ he is until after detention, don’t you?”

Mr Richardson lets the pad fall to Phil’s desk with a loud thwack. It makes Phil jump in his seat, adorably.

“How’d you know it was directed at me, Sir?” Dan finds himself asking. It’s too tempting to resist; that little pulsing vein in Mr Richardson’s neck is pounding away as always, just begging to be engorged. “I think he was angling it your way.”

Mr Richardson whirls around to face him. “Would you like for me to double your sentence, Mr Howell?”

“He’s just kidding, Sir,” Phil jumps in quickly, which is probably good as Dan had been about to suggest he and Mr Richardson skip the courting stage and go straight back to his place. “I won’t write any more notes. Sorry.”

With what seems to be a great deal of effort, Mr Richardson lets go of the tension in his shoulders and nods to Phil, then makes his way back to the front of class. Phil sends Dan a  _look_ , which obviously reads ‘stop being a prat’, so Dan smirks down at the homophobic graffiti on his desk, and tries to be a good student for the next eighteen minutes.

*

On his way out of detention, Dan is so steadfastly trying to keep his head down and not meet Mr Richardson’s eye that he barrels straight into Megan, the girl he sees in here most days. Her jet black hair is pulled into two ponytails either side of her head; it’s too short to be tied up properly, so they stick out like bundles of feathers, secured by bright pink and purple bobbles. If Dan cared enough to ask her about her unusual style choices - the shiny lime green Doc Martens, the string of ropey bracelets and sweatbands up her wrists, the chunky neon beads she wears around her neck when she can get away with it - he imagines she might say she’s ‘Scene’. It doesn’t seem to bother her that the era of the Scene Kid has, thankfully, for most, been abandoned in the late noughties.

“Shit, sorry,” Dan tells her when he crashes straight into her, hot on Phil’s tail.

She glowers at him. Her kohl eyeliner is thick and scary-looking. “ _Sorry?_  That’s rich.”

“Uh, what?”

“You and the art ponce?” She jabs a thumb towards the classroom door, where Phil is lurking, watching Megan with a startled expression. “Really?”

Bewildered by her sudden hostility when he’s spoken less than a sentence to Megan in all the time they’ve been stuck in detention together, Dan just stares. 

“Is there some kind of a problem?”

“After all this build-up between us, you go and date a random  _dude_?”

“Build up?” Dan’s stare becomes a little panicked. He glances at Phil, who appears to be sniggering into his hand.

“You mean to tell me that you're in detention every time I am  _by chance_?” She sneers derisively. “Pull the other one.”

“Um, Megan, is it?” Dan asks tentatively, taking a hasty but hopefully discreet step backwards.

She claps loudly. “Round of applause for the acting skill.  _Dan, is it_?”

“Right, yeah.” He swallows. “I’m sorry but… I’m gay. Did you think…”

Something falls across her pale face, as if she’s been struck. “Gay,” she repeats, voice at a far more reasonable volume now. Her thick eyeliner just looks panda-ish, suddenly. She tugs her chewed cardigan sleeves down over her hands. “Not bi?”

“Nope,” Dan says. Crap, this is awkward. He’s never had to come out to a random stranger before. Although perhaps Megan would argue that they’re close friends. “Just boys.” He glances at Phil. “One boy, actually, now.”

“Oh,” Megan says. She looks hurt. “I thought… because you’re always in here when I am...”

“I’m in here pretty much every day,” Dan tells her. He gestures to Mr Richardson, who appears to have fallen asleep on his own shoulder. “Thanks to my number one fan over there.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “It’s just… everyone’s bi now, y’know? I heard rumours about you some of the guys around town but… I thought you were just playing the long game with me.”

Dan is finding it very difficult to put himself in Megan’s shoes here - he can’t even remember a conversation he’s had with the girl, let alone a moment that might lead her to think he had some kind of romantic interest in her - but he nods sympathetically anyway, hoping it might lead to a faster escape.

“Sorry if I gave off signals or something,” he says, awkwardly.

She shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Um, I’m sure you’ll find someone?”

She nods, sadly. “I guess. I mean, you did, right? Nobody saw that coming.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, inching around her towards the door. Phil is looking at him, eyes tinged with amusement. Dan sends him a withering look, then turns back to Megan. “Guess if I can snag someone, anyone can, right?”

*

“...you’re like one of those horses with the blinders on,” Phil tells him, hands either side of his eyes in demonstration. “You’re so oblivious to all the people lusting after you every day-”

“Oh, come off it,” Dan interrupts, eyes rolling backwards. “ _Lusting._ Please.”

“Dan, you’re off-the-charts gorgeous,” Phil says. He grabs hold of Dan’s hand and tucks it into his coat. It’s because Dan doesn’t have gloves on - doesn’t own any, even. It’s a sweet gesture, but it makes walking beside Phil a little awkward, especially when other people are walking the other way and have to squeeze past them. “You must see how people look at you.”

Dan shrugs, embarrassed. “Creepy guys at Ozone maybe. Girls, though? Like, actual, reasonably attractive girls. Why the fuck would they want a lanky, perpetually bruised idiot with too many holes in his flesh?”

Phil stops them mid-pavement, pulling Dan towards him, until they’re chest to chest. 

“Because, in an emo, heroin chic way, you’re extremely sexy,” he says, then kisses him. Dan tries to be annoyed that Phil basically just called him a 2002 Pete Wentz, but Phil’s tongue is distracting. It flicks against Dan’s lower lip, where the cut is still healing. “Miss the lip ring, though,” Phil murmurs. “That completed the look.”

“I can prob’ly re-pierce it,” Dan replies, muffled because Phil won’t stop kissing for even a second. “If it turns you on that much.”

Phil laughs, breaking away. “You don’t need a lip ring to do that.”

*

“I don’t like detention,” Phil says, then licks a long line up Dan’s throat.

“No?” Dan gasps out, fingers digging into Phil’s shoulders. He can feel one of the framed, childhood photos of Phil digging into his back, threatening to fall once Phil releases him. “I find Mr Richardson’s lectures on respecting teachers truly scintillating.”

“No, I don’t,” Phil says, pushing their mouths together greedily. “Two hours in a classroom, staring at you, nothing to do but think about all the time wasted that I could have spent doing this.”

“An hour and a half,” Dan corrects, so Phil kisses him harder to quiet him, hands planted on Dan’s hips.

In his time, Dan’s had plenty of selfish, greedy assholes backing him into corners, but nobody he’s ever actually wanted this badly. They’d barely gotten in Phil’s front door before Dan found himself pressed up against the wall of the entrance hallway; they’ve not even taken off their shoes. Vaguely, Dan registers a noise in the distance, and reasons it must be a dog in another room. Phil doesn’t seem to notice the noise, too focused on how far he can slide his hand up Dan’s shirt without removing it entirely. The noise gets closer, and Dan realises blearily, belatedly, that Phil doesn’t own a dog.

Just as this realisation crests, Mrs Lester rounds the corner. “Phil, love is that- oh!”

Phil jumps back at the sound of his mum’s voice, but it’s too late. She’s already seen the worst of it. Dan waits for the ground beneath him to split into a gaping hole into which he can tumble, but presumably because God hates him, it doesn’t happen.

“Mum!” Phil exclaims, breathless.

Dan runs a hand through his hair. “H-hi, Mrs Lester. Kath. Mrs Lester.”

She’s wide-eyed, cheeks rosy pink. In her hands she holds a pair of socks, which she seems to have forgotten are there. “Phil, could I have a quick word?” 

Phil tosses Dan a look of apology, then follows him mum through the lounge and into the kitchen. Dan waits for a minute or so, straightening his shirt, trying not to think the worst, and then can’t battle his paranoia any longer. He creeps into the lounge, listening hard to the hushed conversation from the next room. If he stands in the space beside the bookshelf, he can just about make it out, whilst avoiding being seen.

“...thought you’d be gone already.”

“Yes, I can see that, love.”

There’s a pause; Dan can hear his own heart thumping.

“So, you and Dan are…”

“Yeah.”

“I see. How long have you been…?”

“Um, about two weeks? Just over.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“ _Mum_ ,” Phil says, clearly embarrassed.

“You could have told me, you know.”

“I was going to,” Phil insists. “I just… I wanted to make sure it wasn’t all going to explode. I don’t wanna pressure him. He’s even told me he doesn’t like people at school talking about us. He doesn’t even  _care_  about them. But he likes you, I know he does. I haven’t had a chance to ask him what he’d think about you knowing. If it might be a bit much for him. I’m just- I’m so scared I’m gonna say something wrong and he’s gonna bolt. You know what he’s like.”

Dan frowns. Phil is really worried that he’s going to bolt?

“Okay, I understand your concerns,” Kath says, kindly. “But I still think if he’s going to be staying here, I ought to be aware-”

“Yeah, I know, you’re right. I’m sorry,” Phil says. “But nothing’s changed really. He’s just been coming over for Buffy marathons and hot chocolate after he’s finished work, like always.”

“Hmm, well that certainly was not a Buffy marathon I just walked in on.”

Phil laughs, and Dan thinks he hears Kath tittering too. “Sorry you had to see that. So embarrassing.”

Kath sighs, and there’s shuffling noises. Dan thinks maybe she’s giving Phil a hug. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. Hope you know that.”

“You are?” Phil’s voice is muffled, like he’s speaking into her shoulder.

“Just took me by surprise is all. I mean, I always wondered if maybe you had a little crush on him…”

“I think, in hindsight, it was quite a bit more than a little crush.”

Another long pause. “Well, Dan’s a very lucky boy, then.”

“You’re really okay with it? He can still come over in the week and stuff?”

“Of course,” Kath replies in that kindly, mumsy voice Dan loves her for. His heart aches at the sound of her easy, ready acceptance. She makes motherhood seem so simple. She’s an open book, filled with endless words of love and support, more than happy for anyone who needs it to rip out a page. She saves the best of her chapters for Phil, of course. But there’s some passages bookmarked especially for Dan, too. “Do be careful with him, won’t you, Phil?” Her voice is thick with concern. “That scary mask he wears might fool some people, but you and I know it’s made of thin, breakable glass.”

Dan frowns again, mildly irritated that she sees him as a fragile little flower, but he has to begrudgingly admit that Kath has never once fallen for his tough-guy façade. The first time he ever met her, he was his usual cagey and brooding self, unconcerned with making a good impression on any parent. But much in the same way Phil had, she wore his shell away with persistent sweetness. She invited him to stay for dinner, and gave him second helpings without asking, then chocolate biscuits with tea. She asked him a thousand questions, and didn’t mind if he preferred not to answer them, but listened intently if he did. She told funny stories about Phil as a kid. She told him to come back anytime he wanted, even though he was basically a dick all night. She’d been unrelentingly nice and caring, in a way that Dan had never before felt from an adult.

“Don’t worry,” Phil assures her. “I think I’d give him the whole world if I could.”

“And… what happened to that Amanda girl you brought round? I thought you were besotted with her?”

Dan’s stomach clenches.

“We’re just friends.” The surety in Phil’s voice is like a blanket Dan wants to clutch to his chest.

“Okay then. Well, I guess I’d better get going,” Kath says in a sigh. “I was just finishing packing.”

“Tell Auntie Pat I say hi,” Phil says. “And stroke Mittens for me.”

Alarmed by the movement he suddenly hears, Dan sneaks back through the lounge towards the hall, managing to make it out just before Phil and his mum exit the kitchen. 

“Phil, just one last thing,” Kath says from the lounge, her voice so quiet Dan can hardly pick it up. “You two will be  _safe_ , won’t you?”

“Oh my God, Mum, please-”

“Phil, I’m asking for your own good-”

Dan has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop the laugh escaping.

“Yes, fine, wow, we’ll be safe I promise.” Phil says in a rushed garble. “Now I never ever want to speak about this again.”

Kath laughs quietly. “Fine. You’re sensible, I know. But I am your mother, I have to make sure.”

When Phil rounds the corner, he looks vaguely traumatised. Kath is right behind him, a calm smile on her face. Dan smiles back, unsurely, trying to seem as though he has no idea what they’ve been discussing. Kath crosses the hall towards him at once, and wraps him in her arms. Dan feels a little choked up, but manages to remain composed enough to return the hug, gently patting her on the shoulder. She releases him without comment, for which Dan is incredibly grateful, and then starts up the stairs.

“There’s plenty of food in the house boys,” she says as she goes. “Help yourselves, both of you. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

Once she’s out of sight, Phil begins spewing apologies. “...had no idea, I thought she’d have left ages ago because we were all that time in detention-”

“Phil, it’s okay,” Dan says, laughing. “Mortifying, obviously. But not the worst position I’ve been caught in by someone’s mum. And your mum is by far the coolest.”

“Bit of a mood killer, though,” Phil says, sighing.

Dan grimaces. “Yeah.”

They stand in silence for a moment, both reliving the look on Kath’s face as she’d first caught sight of them.

“Wanna watch a film for a while? Take our minds off it?”

“Absolutely.”

*

Three hours after Kath leaves, and they’re on their second film of the evening -  _Forgetting Sarah Marshall_. It’s not helping ease the tension hovering around them, because Phil had said right at the beginning that he’d always kind of fancied Russell Brand, and now it’s all Dan can think about.

“Would you have sex with him?”

Phil wrinkles his nose. “Dunno.”

“Like, if he was here right now,” Dan persists. “Leather trousers, birds nest hair. Asks you to pop your kit off and join him in the cupboard.”

Phil laughs, playing with a popcorn kernel from the almost empty bowl. “Um, no.”

“No?” Dan turns, avidly interested, as ever, in Phil’s elusive sexual preferences. “Why not? He’s had the experience. So, he’d probably be decent at it, at least.” 

“Yeah, well, even so.”

There’s something halting, maybe even reluctant about Phil’s tone. Dan might be imagining it, but he thinks Phil’s mildly uncomfortable with this discussion. Dan decides to prod just one last time, to see if he can get whatever the discomfort is out of him, and then he’ll drop it.

“Is it ‘cos he looks a bit, like, grubby?”

Phil laughs again; his cheeks have turned pink. He flicks the popcorn kernel away. “Look, I’m sure Russell’s great in bed. Fantastic, maybe. But right now, I only wanna have sex with you.”

The breath catches in Dan’s throat. As the unexpected statement sinks into his skin, the tension he and Phil have been stewing in fizzles away. He crawls across the sofa - Dan had jumped to the opposite side of it after a startling reappearance of Kath, hands over her eyes, shouting something about leaving her scarf behind and that she wasn’t looking - until he’s close enough to straddle Phil’s lap. He winds his arms around Phil’s neck and kisses him, slowly, taking his time, because they have oodles of it. 

Phil is eager and responsive in the way that Dan imagines he might have been himself, if his first time had been with someone he actually liked. Dan had been too young to appreciate what he was losing, and to whom; he regrets it immensely. He’s determined that Phil’s experience will be different. This sweet, incredible boy deserves so much more than some vaguely nauseating fuck in the back of a car that’s over in less than a minute, and that the other party won’t even remember. If Dan is honest, he believes that Phil deserves more than anything Dan can possibly offer, but if Dan is what he wants, then Dan will do his best to make it perfect.

They’re just getting into it, just starting to find their way beneath hems and waistbands, when the doorbell rings.

They break apart, a little dazed.

“We could ignore it?” Phil suggests, and Dan is more than on board, so swoops back in to kiss him again.

A minute passes, and then it rings again.

Dan sighs, reaching for the remote to shut Russell up once and for all, then climbs off Phil’s lap. Phil stands a little shakily, smoothing down his school uniform, and goes to get the door. Dan idly flicks through his Twitter timeline on his phone, waiting for him to return.

“Amanda,” Phil says, somewhere in the background. Dan shoots upright, swivelling to look. He can just make out Phil, and a vague, familiar silhouette on the doorstep. Her brown curls give her away.

“Hey,” Amanda says. “Is this a bad time?”

Dan gets up, his feet marching him to the door without his permission.

“Well, actually,” Phil starts to say, but then Dan is at his elbow. Phil blinks at him, worriedly.

“She wanted to talk to you,” Dan says. “She told me. You should invite her in.”

*

“I can leave, if you want,” Dan says, because nobody is saying anything.

Phil sits up straight, staring at him. “No, don’t.”

“It’s okay, I can go for a walk or-”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to both of you.”

They both turn to Amanda, vaguely worried. She’s got her hair in a messy ponytail, and is wearing jeans, which Dan cannot remember ever seeing on her before. He doesn’t remember her being at school today either.

“Okay,” Phil says. “Did you want a drink or something? I’ve got tea, or-”

“No, it’s okay. I won’t stay long.”

Dan stares at her hands, clasped in her lap. Her French manicure tips are peeling off. She’s sat in the exact spot on the sofa where Dan had been perched atop Phil’s lap not ten minutes ago.

“I basically just wanted to tell you both that there are no hard feelings,” she says carefully. She aims a smile at each of them, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “At least on my end.”

“That’s good to know,” Phil says, softly. The guilt is still coursing through him, it’s plain to see.

Dan doesn’t respond. He can feel his fingernails digging into his palm, the way they tend to do when he’s trying to suppress some awful emotion he doesn’t want to feel.

“I really am happy for you both,” Amanda continues. She clears her throat, a tiny, perfect crease between her plucked brows. “I know you feel like you used me, Phil. And Dan, I know you must think I’m, like, the ultimate cockblock.”

 _You have no idea_ , Dan thinks privately.

“But I’m glad that, even though I didn’t know it at first, I was able to help you both to get what you really wanted.” In her following sigh, Dan’s suspicions are confirmed; this touching speech is not the real reason she’s here. “But - and again, I’m not blaming you guys - after all that’s happened, I’m sort of... in a tricky spot.”

Phil is immediately alarmed. “Is it Hardy? Is he bothering you again?” Dan considers ramming his fingers in his ears so he can drown out the concern in Phil’s voice. He turns to Dan. “You said you scared him off.”

“How is this my fault?” Dan snaps. “If he’s harassing her it’s not because I didn’t punch him hard enough. It’s because he’s a knob.”

The response is about to trip of Phil’s tongue, but Amanda gets there first. “No, guys, it’s not Hardy. Well, not directly.” She shifts in her seat. “The Elite gang are pretty harsh about anyone that doesn’t follow  _la regle de jeu_.”

“La what?”

“The rules of the game,” Dan mutters; Phil glances at him, surprised. “Their game. Shocker, really. They always seemed such an easygoing bunch.”

Amanda raises her eyebrows at him. “Yes, we’ve established that I’m an idiot for going anywhere near them, Dan.”

It’s infuriating that she doesn’t ever try to defend herself. Dan’s not used to having someone so readily accept their own folly. Her acknowledgments knock Dan’s insults right back over to him, and he’s never prepared to swing his racket in time to catch them.  

“Wait, so, it’s all of them?” Phil asks, clearly not following the game. “The whole Elite gang are giving you trouble?”

“Have you ever seen  _Mean Girls_?” Amanda asks. “It’s not like they’re knocking my books out of my hands, or shoving me into lockers. But they’re bitchy and they’ve got the whole school under their thumbs. Together, they’re perfectly capable of destroying my life, and they seem pretty intent on it.”

“Are you saying that going to Prom with Phil is akin to committing ‘social suicide’?” Dan asks bitterly, putting the Mean Girls term in a fake American accent. “What a touching sentiment.” He scoffs. “I’m so sick of this stupid playground drama. What are we, twelve?”

“Dan,” Phil warns.

“No, I get it,” Amanda says, looking down. “He’s right. It’s completely pathetic. Even when I was taking part in it, I hated it. Keeping up with the Elites was exhausting. The constant battle for Queen Bee. The lies and the backstabbing, everyone secretly despising each other. And being with Hardy was just embarrassing. Everyone knew he was cheating. The whole discussed it,  laughed about it, and I had to pretend like I was too ditzy, too lovesick over him to notice.” She puts her head in her hands. “I thought that, maybe, if I took a huge leap, right back over the tracks, I could escape it. That’s why I said yes to you when you asked me, Phil. I saw a chance at some normalcy and I took it. It wasn’t fair of me, I know that. But in a way, we were both sort of using each other, right?” 

There’s a lull in the discussion; Phil aims a worried look in Dan’s direction. Dan begins chewing the skin around his thumbnail. 

“I’m sorry that I’m even asking this,” Amanda says then. She looks up at Phil, then at Dan, eyes shining. “But I need your help.”

Phil sucks in a breath. “What is it?”

Something in Dan’s chest crumbles and breaks away. It seems so unlikely that Phil could be over her, if he’s this willing to jump to her aid, even now.

“It’s not much,” Amanda says quickly. “School is over in a couple of months. I just want to get through it. Lillian and the others are turning the whole school against me. People say horrible things. They leave notes in my locker. They spread rumours. I’m sure you’ve heard.”

Now that she mentions it, Dan does recall hearing a few strange things about her recently. He hadn’t paid much attention - he’s usually bored to tears by high school gossip - but hearing that she’d been seen leaving the Savoy hotel in a new designer dress on the arm of a seventy year old man, or on the other end of the spectrum, dancing on a pole in a poor, cheap disguise at a seedy strip club two towns over, had caught his attention.

“What can we do?” Phil asks. 

Dan wants to make it very clear right now that he is not, and will not ever be, getting involved in this. His mouth won’t seem to form the words, though. 

“I need friends,” Amanda says. Dan waits, but this appears to be the extent of it. “Just to hold the rumours off a bit. If they think I have people on my side, maybe they’d be less vicious. All you’d have to do is sit with me a few times at lunch, or hang out with me outside of school now and again. Maybe I could come to the café every once in a while? Then you wouldn’t even have to make the effort-”

“Amanda,” Phil interrupts. “It’s fine. Of course we’ll be your friends.”

The relief on her face is too overwhelming to be faked. Even so, Dan is not willing to offer his own services as a friend. It’s taken him this long to be comfortable with having just one. Even Lee is still on a trial period. 

“It’s just until school’s over,” she says again. “I just can’t take it on my own. I thought I could, and I tried, but they’re just… they’re terrible people. Lillian’s sister is in Aidan’s class, I’m so worried about what could get back to him-”

“It’s okay.” Phil’s smiling, happy this has all been cleared up so neatly. “I got you into this mess, it’s the least I can do.” He turns. “Right, Dan?”

Dan tears a strip of skin from his thumb with his teeth. He wants so badly to say  _no_. He wants things to go back to how they were, for Amanda to crawl back to Hardy, who would undoubtedly be all too happy for the only believable beard he’s ever grown to fix itself back in place. But for some reason, Amanda “Elitist” Jones is suddenly hellbent on doing the right thing. Even Dan knows that to refuse being someone’s friend, for two measly months, is a dick move that cannot be justified, no matter how suspicious he might be of potential motives. If he says his no, Phil won’t understand. He’ll be angry. Their weekend will be ruined, and so might be their future.

So, Dan swallows it all down. “Yeah, totally.”

Phil beams at Amanda. “Oh, by the way, I have your jacket.” He stands suddenly, and Dan feels a little ill. “Wait here.”

He jogs out of the room before Dan can beg him to stay, leaving he and Amanda alone. She fixes him with a knowing stare. “You’re not happy with this.” 

Dan thinks about lying, but decides against it. “No, I’m not. You could beg anyone to be your friend for two months. The Elites might be getting people to shun you, but you’re still Amanda Jones. Just smile sweetly and anyone in St Anthony’s would do whatever you say.”

“Exactly,” Amanda says. “I want  _real_  friends. People who I can actually talk to. Not Elite wannabes that put me on some ridiculous pedestal, only hanging out with me because they see an open position on the throne.”

“I just don’t see why it has to be him,” Dan says, gripping the arm of the chair. 

“Him?” Amanda’s smile is as treacherous as it is sincere. “Dan, I want to be friends with you.”

*

As usual, the dust takes a while to settle in the wake of Amanda’s departure. Phil brings Dan a mug of tea, handing it over cautiously. Still sat in the same position in the armchair, Dan takes it from him, still mulling over all that’s happened. 

“So,” Phil says, perching on the arm of the sofa. He sips from his own mug. “That was unexpected.”

“Mmm,” Dan says. His mind is whirring, producing the kind of noise Phil’s laptop makes when it’s overheating from excess Sims playing. “Guess we’re all besties now.”

“Is it a problem for you?”

Dan considers this, finger skimming around the rim of his mug. “I think... I can get past it.”

Phil nods unsurely, scrutinising Dan’s glazed expression. “You sure? If it really bothers you, we can try and find another way.”

Dan takes a sip of his tea. It’s faintly sweet, because Phil knows Dan too well to believe him when he says he doesn’t take sugar.

“Just don’t fall in love with her,” Dan says into the mug. He means it to come out as a joke, but inevitably it’s spoken quiet and sombre.

Phil puts his mug down, then walks to Dan. He takes him by the hand and pulls him from the chair, then wraps him in a hug. “No chance of that,” he says into Dan’s forehead. “I’ve got something a thousand times better.”

*

“No!”

Dan wakes up with a jolt, hands coming up to cover his face, because shouts usually mean he’s about to get smacked. He hears a quiet ‘shit’ and then arms come around his shoulders; his heart slows gradually, and then Dan remembers where he is, and that he’s unlikely to be in danger of getting pounded in Phil’s bedroom. At least not in any way he’d need to defend himself from.

He lowers his hands, blinking in the darkness. “The fuck?”

“Sorry,” Phil whispers, guiltily. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. We fell asleep.”

Dan squints, trying to piece this together. “So you screamed ‘no’ in my ear?”

“I’m annoyed at myself,” Phil explains. “We’re supposed to be in the throes of passion.”

Dan snorts, falling back to the pillows, exhausted. “Russell’s a bad influence on you.”

Phil prods him in the arm, then falls back beside him. “I’m sorry. I promised you a weekend of sordid, non-stop lovemaking. So far, the two worst people that could have interrupted us mid-sexy-times did, and now we’ve fallen asleep in our not very arousing Elmo and Game Of Thrones pyjamas.”

Dan laughs tiredly, eyes already re-closing. “We’ve got loads of time for all that.”

“Tomorrow I’m gonna ravish you,” Phil warns, though by the sounds of it he’s already half-unconscious.

“I’d better prepare my body for the ravishing ahead.”

Phil swats him in the arm. “You’d better, Howell.”

*

They don’t get up until noon, for no good reason other than Phil’s bed is ridiculously comfy. Dan wakes up with his nose in Phil’s neck, so he presses a kiss there, then another, and eventually Phil stirs.

“Hey,” Dan says, then rolls on top of him.

Phil’s blue eyes blink up at him, wide and surprised by the sudden change in positions. “H-hey,” he says. “What’s-”

Dan leans in and kisses the question away. Somehow, Phil still tastes wonderful, even first thing in the morning. Dan can’t be sure the same can be said about his own morning breath. He lets himself sink into the kiss regardless, hands beginning to wander beneath the covers, skidding over the strip of skin where Phil’s pyjama top has ridden up in the night.

Phil’s breath hitches, and then his hands come to Dan’s shoulders, gently rolling him off. Dan sits up, worried. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phil says quickly, sitting up as well. The covers fall to his waist. He gives Dan a reassuring smile. “Sorry, just… too hot.” There’s a pause as Dan digests this lame excuse. “I’ll make some tea. Do you want some tea?”

“Um,” Dan says, thrown. “Coffee, maybe?”

“Sure,” Phil says, tossing the covers aside.

He stands up quickly, snatching the mugs they’d used last night from the bedside table. Once he’s left the room, Dan stays put for a second, trying to figure out the next what might have just gone wrong. Eventually, he decides to quell his pounding paranoid thoughts, and follow Phil downstairs. In the kitchen, Phil is whistling away as he clatters mugs and kettles about, happy as a clam. Though he finds this sudden turnaround odd, Dan makes the choies to just forget about it. Perhaps Phil was just hot and uncomfortable in the first few minutes of waking, like he said. Or, more likely, maybe Dan’s breath was actually too terrible to withstand the kissing a moment longer, let alone anything else.

“I’m just gonna go brush my teeth,” Dan calls to Phil, making him jump. He turns, hand on his heart, giggling at himself.

“Cool, do you want some toast?”

“Sounds great,” Dan says, then heads for the bathroom.

They eat toast on the sofa together, watching  _Good Morning Britain_.

Licking the crumbs from his fingers, Dan says, “Piers Morgan’s definitely the kind of guy who’d refuse to go down on his wife, but expect her to give him a twenty minute blowjob.” Dan turns to Phil, who is staring at him dazedly. “Like DJ Khaled. Y’know?”

Phil’s eyes are glazed, fixed on Dan’s fingers. His plate of toast crusts is slipping off his lap.

“Phil?” Dan asks. 

He focuses suddenly, snapped back into the room. “Hm? Sorry, what was the question?”

Dan regards him curiously, lowering his fingers from his mouth. “Don’t worry,” he says, turning back to the TV.

A couple of hours later, they’re still on the sofa, because they’re lazy and it’s the weekend. Dan has his feet on Phil’s lap, his back against the other end of the sofa. They’re watching  _Jeremy Kyle_ , one of Dan’s all time favourite shows, and laughing at the ridiculous drama erupting on stage.

“To be honest, if some chick told me my boyfriend had fucked her brother and her Dad, I’d probably tackle him on live TV too,” Dan says. He’s got one arm behind his head, and the other resting across his stomach, idly tickling the skin on show. He turns to Phil, amused by the antics on screen. “So don’t try anything, yeah?”

Again, Phil is doing that strange, distant stare. This time his eyes are firmly fixed on Dan’s abdomen, pupils moving in time with the back and forth of Dan’s fingers. A slow smile creeps over Dan’s face, and realisation dawns.

“Phil,” he says again. His voice is a fair bit lower now. “Phil?”

“Hm?” Phil’s eyes are still trained on his fingers, so Dan pushes them just under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and Phil looks up, cheeks pink. “Is there something you want?”

Phil swallows. “I was just…”

Dan sits up, feet lifting from Phil’s lap, and closes the gap separating them. He reaches for the remote, switching off the TV, and brings his mouth to Phil’s ear. 

“You can have me whenever you want, you know,” he purrs. “If the staring isn’t doing it for you.”

A shiver goes through Phil, Dan can feel it. He slides onto Phil’s lap for the second time this weekend, careful to watch his face for any sign he might not be into this. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes that Dan wants to get rid of, so he settles himself atop Phil’s thighs, and brings Phil’s hands to his hips.

“You still up for some…” Dan arches an eyebrow. “Fun?”

Phil swallows again, his hands tightening on Dan’s hips. “Yes.” He sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “Sorry. I’m just… nervous, I think.”

“Of me?”

“No,” Phil says in a breath. Dan can feel his leg jiggling, because he’s sat on it. “I just… I mean, I know you’ve done this a lot.”

“Wow,” Dan says, sitting back a little. “Cheers.”

“I’m just kinda daunted,” Phil explains. “What if I suck?”

Dan has to fight the laugh that bubbles up rather hard, and he doesn’t entirely succeed. “Um…”

Phil pokes him in the side, making him yelp. “You know what I mean.”

“Hm,” Dan says, already sliding off Phil’s lap, onto the floor. He kneels on the carpet, a hand on each of Phil’s knees. “Sounds like your worries have got you quite worked up.” Phil’s mouth has fallen into a little ‘o’. Gently, Dan pushes Phil’s knees apart. “Let me…” Dan bites his lip, holding Phil’s gaze. “Help you to relax.”

He waits just enough time for Phil to have the option of refusing, but he remains blissfully, mercifully quiet, just watching Dan with wide, fluttery eyes. As Dan leans forwards, tracing his tongue along the seams running along Phil’s inner thighs, Dan imagines he can hear an Angelic chorus. He curls his fingers around the waistband of Phil’s trousers, inching them down, eyes locked on Phil’s, just in case he might protest.

“Lift,” Dan whispers once they’ve reached a point he can’t pull them past. It takes a moment for it to register, then Phil cants his hips upwards, and Dan tugs. The dark hair beginning at his bellybutton snakes down, spreading into a tight thicket at the base of a long, thick, flushed cock. Dan can feel his mouth filling with saliva at the mere sight. “Fuck-ing hell,” he breathes, wonderingly, and wraps his fingers around it, forgetting to stop and ask if it’s still okay. “Phil, you’re gorgeous.”

Phil’s hips twitch, and Dan reorients himself, remembering that this is, in all likelihood the first time anyone’s touched Phil this way, aside from his own hand. Dan moves his hand gently, watching the expressions of awe flicker across Phil’s face. He’s breathing in short stutters, hips twitching forwards, like he wants to thrust into Dan’s fist. It takes about a minute of gently pumping his curled fingers up and down, before Dan’s resolve breaks. He leans in, fist still wrapped around the base of him, and swirls his tongue around the head.

Phil sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, one hand flying out to rest atop Dan’s head. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, eloquent as ever. 

Dan lets out as snort of laughter, which comes out as a pulse of breath through his nose. Phil tastes  _so good_. He tastes as delicious as he does everywhere else, like he’s got waffle syrup pumping through his veins instead of blood. Dan knows, the second Phil’s flavour spreads across his tongue, that he’s addicted to it. He sinks his mouth over Phil’s length, chasing more, already so blissed out it’s a wonder he can stay focused; he’s wanted this for so long that it’s practically torturous to finally receive it. Like giving a child access to an entire candy store, allowing it to gorge itself, after months of only peering longingly through the locked doors. A whimper falls from Phil’s lips, scraping past Dan’s ears on its way to the floor. Dan pockets it for later, knowing it will be very helpful for the late nights Dan spends alone, thinking about all the many, many ways he wants to make Phil come.

“Dan…” Phil chokes out, sounding strained. Blindly, Dan reaches out a hand, and Phil threads his fingers through it immediately. “Dan, fuck. I don’t think I’m gonna last very l-long.”

Ignoring him entirely, Dan just sinks deeper, unable to suppress a groan, born from the thrill that courses down his spine as he feels the length of Phil’s cock sliding down his throat. He goes slowly at first, letting Phil slip in and out of him gently as he bobs his head. But Phil’s whimpers are turning into needy little whines, his hips are threatening to push further into the cavern of Dan’s mouth. So Dan places a hand on Phil’s upper thigh, and picks up the pace. It’s beyond any kind of pleasure Dan’s ever known, to watch, to feel, to taste, as Phil completely falls apart under his ministrations. He meets Phil’s eyes, holding the gaze because he wants to witness every last second. Phil’s got a hand threaded into Dan’s curls, pushing the hair from his eyes. Dan’s name falls like dewdrops from his reddened lips.

And then, just as he warned, it seems he can’t hold on any longer. He tastes like sweet, sun-warmed rainwater as he floods Dan’s mouth. In Dan’s wildest imaginings of this moment, of which there have been many, he never once dreamed of spitting it out, and now, he wouldn’t do it if you paid him. He swallows all of it down, then lets Phil slip out of his mouth slowly, missing the thick, heavy weight of him on his tongue the moment it’s gone. He sits back on his ankles, breathing ragged, and untangles their fingers.

“Feeling a little less tense?”

Phil still appears to be struggling to glide back down to the real world. He sits up, with some effort, and latches his pupil-blown eyes onto Dan’s. “Come here,” he demands, croakily.

Dan’s never been one to deny Phil, and it would be hopeless to think he could start now. He hops up, clambering back into Phil’s lap happily. The moment he’s close enough, Phil drags him in for a kiss. Dan tries to stop him, knowing he’ll only be tasting himself, but apparently this doesn’t seem to bother Phil. He kisses Dan deeply, hungrily, hands slipping straight under his t-shirt, and then pulling it off entirely. Dan chuckles at his eagerness, and then abruptly stops laughing when Phil reaches between them, to press his palm against Dan’s erection, through his pyjamas. Instinctively, Dan bucks into the touch, hands going for the back of Phil’s head. Phil strokes his thumb across the very spot where the tip of Dan’s cock pokes against the fabric. Dan tilts his head to one side, and Phil’s mouth goes straight for the exposed neck, kissing and biting at it.

“Not fair,” Dan complains, though he’s urging Phil onwards with a hand on the back of his head. “You know that’s my weakness.”

Phil finishes sucking what Dan imagines is a very large bruise, then leans back, eyes sparkling. “I warned you I’d give you another one to match.”

“Lesters always follow through,” Dan jokes, and Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s bare waist, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Will you come upstairs with me?”

Dan is a little surprised, but he nods regardless. He climbs off Phil’s lap, realising for the first time just how ridiculously, achingly hard he is, mostly because of how lightheaded he feels when he attempts to stand. Luckily, Phil, pyjama trousers pulled back up, takes hold of his hand and leads him up to his room. As soon as they’re inside, Phil shoves Dan backwards, sending him sprawling across the bed.

“Hey,” Dan complains, though he’s laughing. “Didn’t know you were into BDSM.”

“You would look pretty hot tied up,” Phil says unexpectedly, scooting around the bed to dig in his bedside drawer. “But maybe we could try that another time, when I’m less terrified.”

For a moment, the smile on Dan’s face freezes. “You’re terrified?” He watches Phil, concerned. “You don’t have to do anything, you know. We can just leave it for now-”

Phil jumps up onto the bed, pulling off his t-shirt. It’s a very effective method of shutting Dan up, as he’s got a gorgeous body, lean and tapered, with big shoulders and a defined waist. Dan reaches out to grab at him, his hopeless arousal muddying his conscience. 

“I think I’d be terrified even if we waited for the wedding day,” Phil says, which makes Dan splutter. “You’re just…” Phil trails a hand down Dan’s torso, lightly sweeping across the skin, side to side. “You’re unbelievably beautiful. On top of everything else.”

Dan thinks about asking what ‘everything else’ is, but knows all too well that Phil’s misguided notions about Dan’s personality are difficult to listen to. Instead, he asks, “what can I do to make you less scared?”

Instinctively, Dan’s hand lands on Phil’s, stilling him as he brushes over the burn scar on his left side. But Phil reaches down and removes it, then leans down to press soft, careful lips against the shiny pink skin. Dan’s eyes sting.

“Just tell me if it feels good,” Phil says as he leans back up. He plucks what looks like a small bottle of lubricant from the pocket of his pyjama trousers.

“Phil, if you knew how many times I’ve dreamt of you... of this...” Dan starts to say, then shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to  _not_  make me come, like, ridiculously hard.”

He looks a little dazed at this information, but Phil nods, then slips his fingers into Dan’s waistband, and pulls. Dan lifts his hips so Phil can slide them off, watching Phil’s expression closely as he drinks in the sight of Dan’s entirely naked body for the first time. Dan’s cock twitches, as if it knows it’s being closely observed.

“Shit, Dan,” Phil breathes. His hands are free-roaming over the miles of Dan’s skin now on show. “I want to draw you like this,” Phil says. He trickles light, teasing fingers from Dan’s sternum to his pelvis. “Would you let me?”

“R-right now?”

Phil laughs. “No, not right now.” He settles into a position, half laid on top of Dan, then sends him a mischievous glance. “I have things to take care of.”

Phil picks up the bottle of lubricant, which has fallen to the bed, and uncaps it. He pours some into his palm, then pauses, and squeezes out a little more. He rubs it between his hands for a moment, then, before Dan can stop him, wraps a hand around Dan’s erection.

“Ah! Shit,” Dan exclaims, laughing a little.

Phil freezes instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just freezing,” Dan replies, still chuckling. “Maybe warm it with your hands a little more next time?”

Phil joins in the laughter, nodding. “Sorry.” 

He doesn’t get a chance to expand on his apology, because right then he starts moving his hand, the slick lubricant creating an indescribable friction, one that pushes a moan from Dan’s throat, has him arching his head backwards into the pillows. Phil drapes over him, hand still slowly pumping around Dan’s cock. He presses damp, messy kisses against Dan’s neck, bracing his face above Dan’s with an elbow beside his head. 

“Does it feel good?”

Dan groans, hands finding Phil’s shoulders. “So fucking good.”

Spurred on by the news, Phil speeds up, at which point Dan’s eyelids screw shut, and he bows forwards into Phil’s neck.

“Look at me,” Phil whispers then. It’s an unexpected command, but Dan does it nonetheless, lifting his head to stare into Phil’s eyes.

He can only hold it for a moment before he has to look away again, but Phil is not having it. He releases his hold on Dan’s erection, which briefly makes Dan want to die. Phil reaches up to tilt Dan’s chin back around, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“Please, I want to see you,” Phil whispers, pressing their lips together. “Will you?”

Tears sting Dan’s eyes, and he’s not sure why. There’s something about this that feels too much, like he’s about to slip under a turbulent, roiling ocean. The press of Phil’s body on top of his is overwhelming; Dan can feel connecting of their skin seemingly at every join, can feel their hearts beating in rhythm, their breaths synchronised. Phil is warmth, and light, and sweet, pure love; it sounds absurd, but pressed together as they are, Dan can feel all of it sinking into him, through his pores, to the sinew and muscle beneath. He feels the incredible swell of Phil’s adoration, and it’s dizzying, maddening to know, deeply, that it’s all for him. 

Phil’s hand wraps back around his cock, and Dan tries with all he has to keep his eyes locked on Phil’s like he wants. But two tears spill over, and he has to shut them, to blink them away. Phil kisses him fiercely, like he’s been missing out on the taste of Dan’s mouth for years. Like he’s been battling far away in some great unknown war, with Dan left alone, waiting for him, and now he’s returned, and he’s determined to drown them together, in the love they couldn’t swim in whilst they were parted.

Something cataclysmic builds in Dan’s chest, something terrifying and enormous, so unfamiliar that Dan wonders if he’s on the brink of death. He feels everything Phil is pouring onto him in this moment through their locked eyes, feels the weight of his suppressed yearning. And then it explodes through him, a tidalwave of blinding, electrifying ecstasy, ebbing out to the very tips of his toes. He breathes heavily, gripping onto the only life raft he has: Phil, still above him, floating on the edge of this tsunami, sure, and strong, and safe.

When it’s over, Dan washes ashore, back into the familiar blue and green bedclothes he’s been curled in so many times. Phil rolls to the side, and Dan crashes onto his chest, limp and utterly boneless.

“Was I okay?” Phil asks, tentative and unsure.

Dan doesn’t think words could ever possibly express the pure, raw, visceral phenomenon that he just experienced, so instead, he leans up, spreads himself over Phil however he can, and tries his best to show him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think it’s always worth a shot. Your dreams matter, Dan.”
> 
> Dan laughs, smoke billowing up into the dark sky. “Don’t you know this, Phil? I already got my dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sad and proud to say that this is the final chapter! I'm really grateful for everyone's support, and all the lovely comments you've left me. If you fancy, please feel free to follow me on Tumblr <3 
> 
> danfanciesphil.tumblr.com 
> 
> thank you again everyone, keep your eyes peeled for an (eventual) epilogue... ;) xx

A shrill, tinkling noise is coming from the end of the hall. There’s a door there, with a sliver of light peeking out beneath it - the only light, aside from that which the moon drools through the windows lining the grey brick walls. Dan creeps across the cobblestone, towards the door. The silky, wet moonlight is splashing all over him, dampening his arms, covering him in a pearlescent glow that drips from his fingers, to the grey stone beneath his feet. It won’t do, he thinks, trying to cover up his skin with his sleeves. Someone will notice the peculiarity, will point and stare, and he will be singled out as the moonlight-covered monstrosity. He walks on a little faster. It’s just as well he hasn’t seen a soul for hours. Or has it been days? **  
**

Dan is searching for someone, the person that was at his side when he first arrived here. He cannot picture the person’s face, but they have blue eyes, and black hair, and his mother’s voice, and his father’s clothes. The tinkling noise is growing louder, definitely coming from behind the door. He reaches it, heart thumping, and tries to ignore the way the moonlight is dripping from his soaked sleeves, creating a puddle at his feet. He steels himself, and pushes the door open. Light floods in, along with that eerie musical sound. He shuts his eyes against the brightness, against the cacophony, and when he opens them he’s in Phil’s room, beside Phil, who has switched on his bedside light.  

“Who has an alarm on a Sunday?” Phil asks, irritably, from beside him, grabbing Dan’s phone off his bedside table and dropping it onto Dan’s chest. 

Dan fumbles with the thing for a moment, managing to hit the snooze button. “I have work,” he croaks.

He’s cold, he realises. He’s thought that the bleak, stone corridors he’d been wandering in his dream were the source, but now he understands that his chilliness is more to do with the fact that Phil has wrapped himself in a cocoon of covers, leaving Dan half bare on the mattress. To punish him, Dan pushes his icy feet under the duvet and entwines them with Phil’s, making him yelp.

Phil turns to him, sheepishly grinning, and places the covers back over Dan. He lifts his arm so Dan can curl into him, which he does. After a moment, Phil sighs into his hair. “You have work today?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “Sorry. Lou could only be persuaded so far.”

Phil trails his fingers down Dan’s neck, then up again, tucking a curl behind his ear. “But what about all the sexy things I was planning to do to you today?”

“You bastard,” Dan groans. “Is it not hard enough that I have to leave you in bed, naked, to go and serve a bunch of entitled teenagers frothy drinks for six hours?” He rolls to his side to look at Phil properly. “Now I have to do that knowing that I’m missing out on planned sexual activities.” 

Phil kisses him the moment he stops speaking, tasting of mint again, and marshmallow, and… Dan really needs to stop trying to identify all the flavours he can taste on Phil’s lips - he’s becoming a total sap. Instead, he melts into it, allowing the pillow of Phil’s lips to sweep away every irritating, niggling thought in his overwrought brain. It must work better than he expected, because the thing that jolts them apart is Dan’s alarm, again. Phil snatches the phone, and Dan only just manages to stop him launching it across the room.

Once Dan’s shut the alarm off for good, Phil sighs heavily, taking one of Dan’s hands and kissing the knuckles. “Do you want a shower before you go?”

“Yeah, that’d be great actually,” Dan says, pulling his hand free of Phil’s to stretch his arms above his head in a yawn. Phil’s hands wander aimlessly over Dan’s taut body; he’s inevitably going to need a cold shower. “Mind if I go first?” 

One of Phil’s eyebrows quirks towards his hairline. “I meant with me.”

Dan feels the arousal rippling around his groin. He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Phil peels the covers off himself and stands, naked aside from his boxers, and holds out his hand for Dan, smirking. “Coming, then?” 

“Um, go put the shower on,” Dan tells him, feeling a little dazed already. How Phil can look so goddamn beautiful at this time in the morning is a mystery. His hair’s a mess and his glasses aren’t on, and he’s hiding a semi in his tight pants, but he’s a deity if Dan’s ever seen one. “I’ll just get my shit together. Meet you in there.”

Phil shrugs, smiling mischievously. “Don’t be long. Not sure I can wait for you...” 

“Bastard,” Dan says affectionately, admiring the back of him as he walks out.

In truth, he wants an opportunity to find his own underwear, preferably a new pair. He digs out a fresh pair of boxers from his emergency reserve (a deep pocket in his jacket) and slips them on, half rolling his eyes at himself because he’s about to whip them straight back off again. Somehow though, it seems disrespectful to wander Phil’s house - Kath’s house - butt naked. He heads for the bathroom as soon as he’s vaguely decent, trying to keep himself from power walking despite the knowledge that Phil is, right at this moment, naked, wet, and waiting for him a few yards away.

Phil’s bathroom is smallish, but he has one of those wide shower-baths, with a glass pane instead of a curtain. Phil is already stood under the spray, Dan can see his blurry silhouette through the condensed glass.

“Dan?” 

Dan snorts. “No, sorry, it’s Russell. Heard you fancied a quickie.”

“Ooh, sounds good, Mr Brand,” Phil calls back, his voice muffled by the spray. Dan shuts the bathroom door and locks it - they might be alone, but they’ve had enough surprise appearances this weekend. “Don’t let my boyfriend know though, yeah?”

Dan freezes, underwear halfway down his thighs. He can feel his heart squeezing, clamped in a fist, fighting to pump blood to his swimming brain. “Y-your what?”

The shower switches off, and Phil’s head tentatively pokes around the pane. “Shit. Um, is that not… we don’t have to, like, label it or whatever-”

Dan lets his pants fall to his ankles and steps out of them, then climbs into the tub. Phil is soaking wet, dark hair plastered to his skull, droplets falling down his face like tears. For a moment, Dan is too scared to speak, so he just places a hand on Phil’s chest, sweeping his thumb through the moisture.

“Is that… something you want?” He manages to ask eventually.

Phil swallows, eyes wide, trained on Dan. “I want what you want.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s... boyfriend,” Dan tells him. The term sits strangely on his tongue, like it doesn’t fit. “I don’t think I know how.”

“Me neither,” Phil says, voice small. “But I think, with you, it’d be easy.”

Dan clings to the small smile Phil offers, thinking of it as a tiny life jacket, only big enough for a child, that he has no choice but to use to keep him afloat. He nods, feeling his own exhale shake and tremor as it leaves his lungs. “Okay,” he says, though the terror is paralysing. “Let’s try being... boyfriends.”

Phil reaches for him, pulling them close together. His wet skin is cold now, after so long out of the spray, so Dan reaches blindly, and manages to turn the shower back on. Phil shudders as the warm cascade of water sluices down their backs. He kisses Dan sweetly, hands either side of his face; it only lasts seconds, because the water makes it hard to breathe, but Dan still drowns in it.

“What privileges do I get, then,” Dan asks, hands slipping over Phil’s warm, wet shoulders, down his arms. “As a boyfriend?”

“Well.” Phil grins, then swivels awkwardly, half trapped by Dan’s embrace, to grab for a bottle of something. Conditioner, Dan sees, though he’s not sure Phil even knows what he’s reaching for, blind as he is without his specs. He manages to snatch it, then spins triumphantly, and of course promptly slips, falling to floor of the tub, legs crashing into Dan’s like they were bowling pins in his path. Dan’s hand flies out, but with nothing to grip but the slippery glass pane, he tumbles directly onto Phil, landing on his lap.

“Phi-il,” he groans. “You’re literally the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey,” Phil says, rubbing his thigh, leaning back to keep his head out of the shower spray. “At least you had a Phil-cushion to land on. That’s gonna bruise.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dan makes a vague attempt to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs they’ve landed in, but the water, along with the conditioner that Phil spurted from the bottle on his way down somehow, makes the action impossible. He tries to gain some leverage with his elbows on the lip of the tub, chest pressing into Phil’s, but it’s hopeless.

“Fuck’s sake, I am not missing work because I’m stuck in your bloody bathtub-”

Dan stops moving when Phil’s hands grip at his waist, a little too hard to be considered normal. He looks down, noticing that Phil’s breaths have grown stuttery, and his pupils are blown wide. Belatedly, Dan remembers that they are, in fact, both naked, slippery, and hard right now. In the haze of aching and discomfort caused by the fall, Dan tries to figure out if he can feel exactly where his and Phil’s bodies are touching. Dan wriggles his hips experimentally, and Phil lets out a pulse of breath, as if he’s been punched in the stomach.

It’s then that Dan understands what’s happening. Phil’s cock, which is, Dan now knows, fully hard, is nestled between Dan’s butt cheeks. Dan’s own cock twitches as soon as he realises this, and he grinds down, unable to stop himself pushing into the delicious feeling; he wants Phil to thrust right into him, to fuck him raw and bare, but he gets the sense that it might be a bit too soon to ask for such a thing, so this will have to do for now.

Phil’s hands are still gripping his sides, and Dan can’t stop thrusting his hips down, eyelids fluttering as Phil’s long, hard cock slips, conditioner-slicked, between his cheeks. His foreskin catches on the rim of Dan’s hole, and he groans, latching his mouth onto Phil’s, drawing Phil’s tongue inside, so at least some of him will be.

Dan honestly does not believe anything could be better than this, so when Phil’s hand - also slippery with conditioner - wraps around his cock and starts pumping in time with Dan’s own movements, he can’t keep the moan that surges up within him from pouring out of his mouth. A tumble of filthy curse words follow soon after, almost lost in the mash of their mouths, but still enough to pinken the tips of Phil’s ears.

“Fuck,  _fuck_ ,” Dan whispers, drawing away from the kiss to tip his face to the spray. His hip movements are far from rhythmic, and Phil’s hand is unpracticed and sloppy, but it feels phenomenal. Phil’s breaths are ragged, and he’s gazing at Dan, above him, with a gorgeous, wondering expression that Dan could gulp down in pints. “I’m gonna come, fuck,” Dan says, then bites his own lip, hard. “You feel incredible.” 

“M-me too,” Phil manages, obviously teetering on the edge. He thrusts his hips up to meet Dan, rubbing himself tightly against Dan’s entrance. Dan squeezes around him, encouragingly. “Don’t stop.”

No intention of that, Dan just grinds down harder, faster. Phil’s thumb, perhaps inadvertently, sweeps over the tip of Dan’s cock, not once, but twice, and Dan simply cannot stop the sizzling pleasure from unzipping through him, pouring out as he tries valiantly to maintain the pace of his own movements, intent on pulling Phil over the edge with him. It works, easily; it seems that the sight of Dan falling apart is enough for Phil to push into his own high. Phil grips him tightly, fingernails digging into Dan’s waist, shuts his eyes, and chants Dan’s name like a mantra. When it’s over, Dan collapses onto him, thrumming with the afterglow, the warm water beginning to slowly turn colder as the boiler runs out of heat. Phil, back slumped against the head of the tub, is glassy-eyed.

“If we do that again, would you consider being a little late to work?”

*

It’s Monday, and Dan’s in Music, the one class, aside from perhaps Chemistry with Phil, that he is able to tolerate. Ms Chilton, the Music teacher, is not, by any means, a kind, sweet woman, but for some reason, she seems to give Dan a little more attention than the others. Mostly due to bafflement, Dan lets her chide him and push him, and Music tends to be the only subject he ever gets decent grades in. Today, they’re finishing up their final projects, which will decide their overall grade. They’re supposed to compose a piece, either on the computer, or on their chosen instrument.

Around fifteen minutes ago, Ms Chilton asked Dan to play her what he has so far. Thankfully, Ms Chilton seems to understand, wordlessly, that Dan would rather set himself on fire than play for the entire class, so they both plug headphones in to the electric piano, and Dan plays her his piece. She listens thoughtfully, eyes shut in concentration. Dan doesn’t really get what she’s listening to - his performance can hardly be anything special compared to what she is probably able to do.

“Yes, I can hear the improvements you’ve made to the final section,” Ms Chilton says approvingly, slipping the headphones down to rest around her neck, where they immediately become tangled in the beads and necklaces she wears. “I agree that an imperfect cadence works for you, however I think there’s something to be added in the final few bars, if you’ll allow me to have a play…”

She battles with the headphones for a moment, then manages to free them from the tangle of jewellery, and places them back over her ears. She leans forwards, her shoulder pressed to his, and effortlessly dances her long, ringed fingers over the keys, producing a sweet trill of decorative melody that, Dan readily admits, would fit perfectly over the ending of his piece.

Just then, the bell rings. Dan thanks Ms Chilton in a mumble, removing his own headphones. As soon as they’re off, the chatter of the other students, excited for lunch, fills his ears. He grimaces, wishing he could slip back into the solitude of his song. Before he is able to so much as pick his way out from the piano bench, Ms Chilton says his name. 

He pauses, and she lifts an unhurried finger, draining the remnants of whatever strange, pungent tea she’s been drinking for the past hour. The students file out, and Dan waits, rather impatiently, for Ms Chilton to speak. She stands, her long skirt wafting over the cellos, the abandoned tambourines, the guitars loosely stacked in their stands, as she crosses to close the classroom door.

“Your time at school is almost over,” she says at last, gliding to her desk and perching on the edge.

Her creased, grey eyes fix him to the spot. Though she’s a subdued, dreamy sort of woman, with wispy hair and a vaguely hippyish style, there’s an intensity about her that makes students wary; she never shouts or even raises her voice much, but she’s sharp and rarely smiles. It’s unusual for her to show genuine interest in a student. Dan secretly suspects that her apparent indifference to her class is just an act, but it does seem to work in her favour - the students clamour for her attention in a way they don’t bother to with other teachers. If they think they’ve earned her approval, even for a moment, it’s as if they’ve won a prize.  

“Yeah, I know,” Dan says, because she seems to be waiting for an answer.

“And what is it, Daniel, that you’re thinking of doing next?”

He shrugs, playing idly with the bell on one of the nearby tambourines. “Dunno, really.”

He does know, of course. He will continue working at the café, upping his hours to full-time. He’ll work the long shifts, and save to get a place - any place - away from his mum’s house, which he will move into the minute he can afford to. He’ll buy a car, so he can drive to see Phil now and then, who will be at some university or other.

But Ms Chilton doesn’t want to hear this. No teachers want to hear that a student they’ve spent years trying to fill with knowledge and ambition has long ago resigned themselves to a life of solitude, monotony, and pointlessness.

“I’d like to discuss an opportunity with you,” Ms Chilton says, unexpectedly. “It would require a great deal of effort on your part, but has the potential of being quite life-changing. I have thought long and hard about whether you would be able, or willing, to rise up to the challenge, but upon deliberation I must say that I think you, Daniel, are the only student I have ever taught who might possess the sufficient talent for it.”

Dan stares at her, unsure how he could possibly respond. “Sorry, um.  _Me_?”

“Yes,” she says, that unwavering, dazzling gaze never straying. “You.”

*

After leaving Ms Chilton’s classroom, Dan’s in such a daze that he doesn’t even register who it is that Phil is chatting to beside his locker. Phil tenses as soon as he sees Dan approaching, nervous for some reason, though Dan has no energy to work out why. Last night, after work, Phil had kept him up rather late, so they’re both pretty knackered today. In Dan’s case, tiredness makes him dazed and distant; in Phil’s case, it tends to hit him in bursts, interspersed with periods of high energy to make up for it. Right now, that energy radiates out of him. It’s making Dan exhausted, just to stand in his vicinity.

“Hey!” Phil squeaks, far too chipper. “Where did you get to? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hm?” Dan is looking past him, at the swarms of students still scattering through the hall, like marbles flying past one another, ricocheting off the walls. “Yeah, sorry. Was talking to Ms Chilton.”

Phil reaches out and plucks something from Dan’s hand. He hadn’t even been aware he was holding anything. It’s a leaflet, apparently; Phil unfolds it, frowning at the contents.

“The British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” Phil reads out, then lifts his eyes to Dan. “Was she asking you to a concert?”

“I think it may be more to do with this,” Amanda says, pulling suddenly and spectacularly into focus at Phil’s right.

She points a delicate finger at something on the far page of the leaflet. Dan stares at her, trying to figure out what on earth she’s doing here, before remembering the strange conversation they’d had on Friday, when she’d declared that she wanted to be friends. Phil’s mouth falls open slightly, his pupils darting left to right, reading quickly. Amanda lifts her eyes to Dan’s smiling tentatively.

“Hi, by the way,” she says.

“Uh,” Dan replies. “Hi.”

“Oh my God,” Phil breathes, lowering the leaflet at last. His eyes are alight. “Is this true? Are you really going to audition for this?”

Dan licks his lips, trying to recall the conversation he and Ms Chilton had just a few minutes earlier. A piercing ringing noise in Dan’s ears had obscured much of what she’d said, but he does vaguely remember her saying that she would like to help him prepare for the audition day coming up.

“Maybe,” he says. Phil lets out a delighted laugh. He turns towards Amanda, and she smiles too, sharing his glee. And then, watching the two of them, it strikes Dan like a blinding flash of lightning. The particulars of his life, his situation, are illuminated once more, and he shakes free of the whole ridiculous idea. “Probably not,” he corrects himself, snatching the leaflet back and shoving it deep, crumpled, into his pocket. “S’just one of Ms Chilton’s mad pipe dreams. Can’t really picture me, coat tails flung over the stool, playing Mozart on a stage, can you?”

He scoffs, hands patting his jacket pocket in search of cigarettes before remembering that he purposefully didn’t bring any today in an attempt to ‘cut down’. 

“Wait, Dan, what exactly did Ms Chilton say?” 

Phil’s face has fallen, and Dan can’t bear it. Can’t he just listen to any one of the many teachers that will happily tell him - Dan’s a disappointment, and always will be. 

“Oh, you know, a load of hippy bollocks,” Dan answers in a mumble, eyes darting away.

“She’s pretty difficult to impress, I hear,” Amanda tries. In a better mood, Dan might have the patience to tolerate her, but right now, he can’t even bring himself to respond. “If she thinks you’re in with a shot, I’d say that’s a ringing endorsement.”

“Um, you guys go on to the cafeteria,” Dan says, backing away from them. He can feel the unbearable itch of his nicotine craving scraping beneath every patch of his skin, and he can’t take it. “I’ll meet you in there.”

“Where are you going?” Phil calls, though Dan’s already walking away.

“Just gotta find Lee quickly,” he calls back, then pushes into the throng of students.

*

Lee, as ever, is not tough to find. He’s sat with his laddish Year Ten friends on a picnic bench outside the IT block. They’re splashing their sodas at one another, jeering and making a mess, occasionally stopping to put one another in a headlock, or flick a lighter near the hem of their school jumpers in the hopes of singeing the fabric.

The moment he spots Dan approaching, Lee attempts to appear separate from the others, the moronic grin slipping from his expression, his body relaxing into cool nonchalance as he rolls his eyes at the others’ behaviour.

“Quit acting like a bunch of twats, would you,” Lee says, just loud enough for Dan to hear. 

Dan has to hide a smirk. He walks up to Lee, then inclines his head. “Can I have a word?”

Lee shrugs. “Sure,” he says, then gets up casually, clearly all too aware he’s being eyed by his shocked companions.

“Goin’ for a quick shag, Lee?”

Dan turns to the kid that asked, glowering. Whether or not Dan’s reputation has been a little besmirched by now - Hardy Jenns has apparently spread news of Dan’s past Ozone-related activities - the idiot has the decency to look as if he regrets that question. Dan might be the school’s slutty gay mascot, but he’s also the one that caved Jenns’ face in at Prom.

“Get bent, Harry,” Lee shouts, coolly. Dan won’t admit it outright, but he’s mildly impressed by Lee’s blazé attitude, though he knows it’s put-on for his benefit. Lee turns to Dan, then. “What’s up?”

“Got a fag?” Dan asks.

Lee nods, casting a quick look around for lurking teachers. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro menthols. Dan makes a face.

“Sorry, Harry’s brother got ‘em for me,” Lee says. “Can’t be too picky when your mate’s doin’ you a huge favour, y’know?” 

Dan takes one, reasoning that it’s better than nothing, then tucks it behind his ear. “Cheers.”

He starts to walk away then, but Lee calls after him. “Wait.” Footsteps, rapidly catching up with him. “I’ll come with you, I’m gagging for one, too.”

Internally, Dan groans, but he doesn’t have the heart (and since when does he have a soft spot for  _Lee_?) to turn the kid away. Together, they walk in silence to the narrow groove behind the huts at the back of the grounds, where they can’t be seen.

As soon as Dan takes the first drag, his world sharpens, and he feels instantly better. Then, the minty aftertaste hits, and he feels a little like throwing up.

“Grim,” Dan mutters, but takes another drag anyway.

Lee chuckles. “Least they’re not fuckin’ cherry flavoured.”

A laugh bursts from Dan’s chest, as much to his own surprise as Lee’s. Has Lee always been funny? Perhaps he just never bothered to notice. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Dan says.

“So,” Lee clears his throat. They’re both looking straight ahead, at the fence directly in front of them, their backs against the wall of the hut. “Haven’t seen you since Prom. You alright?”

Ah, no wonder Lee wants a catch-up. Last time he saw Dan he was wasted, bawling his eyes out, with a face bruised and bleeding from Hardy’s fist. “Right, yeah. Sorry about… all that.”

“Nah, it’s alright.”

“Thanks for taking my brother’s car back, by the way.”

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Lee says. Dan turns to him, confused. “That was your, er, your… mate. Phil?”

“Yeah,” Dan breathes, nodding. “Yeah, Phil.”

“I dunno where you live, so he offered to take it back in the morning.”

Dan blinks, not sure what to make of this gesture. He remembers Ricky mentioning something about Phil stopping by the day after Prom, but he hadn’t put two and two together until now. He looks at his shoes. 

“Dan, mate,” Lee says then, so Dan turns to him, cigarette caught between his lips. “I know you’re not really big on, uh, ‘friends’. But just so you know,” Lee tilts his chin up, defiant. “I’ve got your back.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift. “Oh,” he says, confused. “Right. Uh, thanks.”

Lee nods, turning back to the fence in front of them. “No worries.” He’s clearly got more to say, so Dan just stays quiet, smoking, until he works up the courage to spit it out. “And uh, I don’t, like, care. About the stuff people are saying, I mean.”

Something squeezes around Dan’s chest, like a belt tightening. He wants to fucking sprint away, but the space they’ve slipped into is barely wide enough for the two of them to stand in, let alone for Dan to push past him. 

“Lee-”

“Nah, just… listen a sec, this is fuckin’ difficult but I need to tell you.” Lee’s voice is different. It’s lost that needy, young quality. There’s strength behind it now, and Dan marvels, trying to work out when it was that scrawny Lee grew some actual balls. “I worked it out a while back, y’know. How you felt. The way you looked at him. And how funny you got when he started off with that Elite chick. I know it was shit for you, at Prom, seeing him wiv’ her. But I don’t give a shit that you like him. I’m your mate, and I think you should be happy. If people try and talk shit about you when I’m around, I tell them to fuck off. ‘Cause that’s what mates do. I just want you to know that you’ve, uh, got me in your corner.”

Lee finishes the stub of his cigarette and throws it to the ground. Dan’s has burned out; he’s been too stunned to do anything but listen to Lee, cheeks flaming because it’s probably the wildest conversation they’ve ever shared. All this time, Dan was convinced his only friend was Phil. But maybe he doesn’t always get a say in who his friends are.

“Well, right.” Dan stomps on his own cigarette. “Thanks, Lee.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

A few agonising, silent seconds pass, and then Phil, somehow, rounds the corner. Dan might have run away from him a short while ago, but right now he’s ridiculously glad to see him.

“Finally,” Phil says, squeezing into the narrow space. “Found you. Should’ve known you’d gone for a smoke.” He inches, somehow, through the tight gap between Lee and the fence, nodding at him as he passes. “Hey, Lee.”

“Alright,” Lee says uncomfortably, trying not to move as Phil squishes him against the wall.

Eventually, Phil stumbles into the space beside Dan. He smiles, and Dan can’t help returning it, despite how awful he feels inside.

“I’ll, uh,” Lee says, jabbing a thumb in the opposite direction. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

“Thanks for the cig,” Dan calls after him. Lee lifts a hand in acknowledgement, and slips out of the small space.

“Where’s Amanda?” Dan asks as Phil settles his back against the hut.

“She told me to come talk to you alone,” Phil says.

“About what?”

Phil bites his lip, deliberating. “I know you don’t really like talking about… what’s gonna happen when school ends,” he says carefully. Dan can feel Phil’s eyes burrowing into the side of his face; he’s watching Dan’s expression, checking he’s okay. It’s mildly infuriating, but Dan sticks it out, because it’s Phil. “But, well, it’s coming up.”

“I know that,” Dan snaps. “I’m not in denial. Is it such a crime if I wanna enjoy being with you while I still-” he cuts himself off, but not quite quick enough. 

Phil cocks his head to the side, like a confused puppy. “While you still what?”

“I really don’t wanna talk about this now,” Dan says, shaking his head.

He turns to Phil, grabbing him by the jumper and pushing him up against the wall. If he stands in front of Phil, fence at his back, there’s barely any room to move, which means he’s pressed deliciously along Phil’s body. He swoops in fast, closing the short distance between their mouths. He’s forceful and insistent, tongue searching, teeth nipping and coaxing, but Phil is distracted, and after a few moments pushes Dan, gently, away.

Sighing in frustration, Dan turns from him, moving to lean back against the wall. 

“So you’re withholding affection until I pour my heart out now?” Dan asks, scornfully. “Blackmail doesn’t work well with me, Lester. Maybe you should buy me some more Skittles.”

Dan kicks out, toe colliding with the fence in front of them, making it wobble.

“Dan, don’t be mad,” Phil says, sounding upset. And that’s just great, now Dan’s got to digest a helping of guilt on top of it all. “I just think maybe you should at least consider what Ms Chilton said-”

“What’s the point?!” Dan shoves his hand into his hair. “Look at me. The snobs from the Orchestra would kick me out before I had a chance to tickle the damn keys!”

“You don’t know that,” Phil says, quietly. “You could at least try.”

“I’m not  _good_  enough, Phil,” Dan says, glaring. “That’s it, plain and simple. I’m not the kind of person they want. I’m self taught, and sloppy, and working class. My destiny is not to play the fucking ivories with a load of pretentious kids that salivate over Beethoven. If you wanna shoot for the stars, go for it. I actually think you’ve got a hell of a chance. I don’t.”

“So, you can have faith in me,” Phil challenges, seemingly outraged by something Dan can’t fathom. “But I’m not allowed to want better things for you?” 

“We both know you’re the talented one,” Dan says. “You’ll get into some distant, fancy art college no problem, and we’ll keep up the long-distance for a bit, and then you’ll forget about me. Or, not forget, but find something better. Someone with purpose, and potential. And that’s just the way it’ll go.”

Phil’s enraged expression now has alarm bells ringing all over it. He reaches for Dan’s arm, obviously softening, but Dan pulls away. “Dan, woah, there’s a lot to unpick there, just-”

“So, yeah,” Dan interrupts, not listening. “Excuse me for not wanting to talk about the future. For wanting to live in the present just a little bit longer, when I still have you, and everything isn’t just complete, utter shit.”

He’s had enough then, and mercifully, the bell rings, so he doesn’t need to stick around any longer. Dan squeezes, with a fair deal of effort, past Phil, and round the corner of the hut, managing to lose himself in the swarms of students that suddenly appear. He sits through English, just about, but can’t bring himself to attend his final lesson, so slips out of school via the back entrance, and wanders home.

*

Dan wakes up on his sofa, immediately awash with dread, because he has no idea how long he’s been asleep. If it’s dark outside, Ricky might be home soon, or worse, he might already  _be_  home. Something catches his eye on the coffee table to his right; it’s the British Young Person’s National Orchestra leaflet, laid out where he left it. Now, however, there’s a note laid on top, scrawled in his mother’s handwriting.

_Ricky’s out tonight. I’m at work._

_I think you should go for it._

_Mum x_

Dan rereads the note four times before he understands what his mum is saying. She thinks he should audition for the orchestra. It makes no sense at all; she’s always shouting at him for not being home enough, not contributing to the rent payments enough, not doing his share of the housework. Why would she  _encourage_  him to leave? Still fuzzy from his nap, Dan decides to push this peculiar note away for now, and to think about it later. He checks his phone, which is flooded with activity. Most of the missed calls are from Louise, and Dan’s stomach sinks.

“Shit,” he says, to no one. 

He missed work. Well, is technically still missing work. He clicks onto his text messages. Apart from Louise’s stream of abusive, panicked ‘get down here right now’ texts, there are a fair few from Phil, as Dan expected.

**From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
15:32pm  
_hey did u forget we have  
detention??_

**From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
15:38pm  
_ok mr richardson was not_  
pleased but i think i   
managed to cover 4 u

**From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
15:40pm  
_can u at least let me know  
where u are?_

**From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
16:34pm  
_ok im out of detention now_  
coming 2 cafe.  
xx

 **From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
17:23pm  
_ok ive been here since 5_  
where r u??? louise cant  
get hold of u either

 **From: Phil  
** To: Dan  
19:56pm  
_ive been here nearly three hours._  
im gonna go to ozone. i rly  
hope ur not there.

“Shit,” Dan says again, then checks the time. It’s eight now, Phil will be at Ozone soon. Dan doesn’t blame him; if he were in Phil’s shoes, he’d assume that’s where Dan had gone as well.

Without thinking about it, Dan gets up, grabs his keys and shoves on his shoes. He manages to remember his jacket, then bolts out of the door. He contemplates waiting for the bus to take him into town, but decides it would be better to just leg it. His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and his lungs start screaming at him two minutes into the journey, but Dan pushes through it.

He reaches Ozone in just under seventeen minutes, which is a record time. He’s hot and damp from exertion, panting so hard that he can’t even speak to Ben at the door. Mercifully, Ben lets him through anyway, though God knows why, as the last time Dan was in here, he was thrown out.

Almost the second Dan is inside, he feels someone grab his butt. It’s an aggressive squeeze, the kind of possessive, awful clutch of flesh that belongs to guys that think they can have whatever they want. Dan turns, scowling, to find the dude who gave him the pack of Djarums a while back. He’s even more nauseating than Dan remembers him being; it seems disgusting to think back on the person he was when he met this man, and the ways in which he degraded himself for a stupid pack of flavoured cigarettes.

The guy holds up another pack of Djarums in his beefy hand. “Got another pack for ya, Princess. Shall we find somewhere quiet?”

“Fuck off,” Dan says bitterly, turning away.

He pushes through the crowd, eyes scanning frantically for Phil. He spots Sam in the sound booth, setting up for whatever awful band is about to go on, and ducks out of his view. He asks Niamh, one of the bartenders, whether she’s seen a guy with blue eyes, black hair and glasses, but she just shakes her head. 

Dan does a circuit of the whole club three times before he has to reluctantly admit to himself that Phil is not here. He slumps into one of the grimy little booths, defeated. Someone approaches pretty quickly, and Dan’s about to spew a load of abuse at whichever gross guy that Dan might have drunkenly given a smidgen of attention to long ago is deciding to try it on now, but at the sight of who it is, the words die on his lips.

Amanda slides neatly into the booth opposite him. “Hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She looks a little startled by his hostility. Honestly, he’s lost track of his feelings around the girl now. Is he angry with her? Kind of reluctantly impressed by her? Indifferent, maybe?

It’s likely a combination of all three. But Dan’s failsafe mode is ‘moody dickhead’, so it would almost be weirder if he treated her any other way.

“Phil sent me,” she explains, getting straight to the point. “He was gonna come himself, but he wanted someone to scout out the scene.”

Dan just stares. “Why?”

“He didn’t say,” Amanda says, smoothing out her skirt beneath the table. “But I imagine it’s because he didn’t want to see you snogging someone else.”

Fiery, red hot fury scorches through Dan’s veins. How dare she imply such a thing. “I’m not fucking snogging anyone else-”

“Yes, well, I can see that.” Amanda seems entirely nonplussed by Dan’s anger, and her coolness is disconcerting enough to forcibly relax him. “And I’ll be sure to tell him. But you can see how he might have been a little scared that’s what he’d find.”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat, a huge one. “Just because I used to sleep around a bit doesn’t mean I’m gonna cheat on him.”

She nods, calmly, and sends him a small smile. “Remember how I said we’re the same, Dan? Self-sabotage is kind of my thing. And I’d wage a bet it’s yours too.”

Dan shakes his head, but he can’t come up with any kind of argument in his defence.

“You’re not used to being happy,” Amanda continues. “Nor am I. It doesn’t sit right. It feels too precarious. Like it’s all seconds from crumbling away.” She’s too fucking good with words, that’s the problem. She’s like Derren Brown or something, manipulating his mind with her steady gaze, and her mesmerising appearance. He tries to shut her out, but the words trickle through into his mind anyway. “The second you find even the tiniest hole in the perfect, happy blanket you’re wrapped up in, you can’t help picking at the loose thread. You make the hole bigger, worse than it needs to be, because in some way, deep down, you’re expecting it to all fall apart.”

“I’m not making it  _worse_ ,” Dan says through gritted teeth. “I came here to find Phil.”

“But, he’s not here,” Amanda reminds him. “So, if I hadn’t turned up, would you have just left?”

Dan shrugs, but he knows the answer. And even worse, she knows it too. No, Dan wouldn’t have left, probably. In all likelihood, what he’d have done is gone to the bar and gotten smashed on some other loser’s tab. And after that, who knows? 

Dan’s a mess when he’s drunk. He doesn’t want to cheat on Phil - the thought is utterly repulsive - but he knows himself. And Amanda’s right. He’s convinced that he and Phil are doomed - by their dangerously different futures, by Hardy, by Amanda, by Dan’s family, by the fucking world. So, in a haze of moronic, drunken stupidity, Dan can completely see himself taking the opportunity to drag that impending doom a little closer. To get it over with.

“Dan,” Amanda says, and reaches her hand across the table. Her eyes are round, pleading. For some reason, he lets her take his hand. “You deserve to be happy. Phil deserves to be happy. This little tiff is not worth losing such a good thing over. You can get through this. Just talk to him. Just try.”

It’s so infuriating, knowing that she’s completely right. He nods stiffly, and she squeezes his hand.

“Will you call him?” Dan’s voice is croaky. “Tell him to come here? I need the bathroom.”

She nods, smiling supportively, and picks up her phone. Dan climbs out of the booth, walking quickly, head down, towards the bathrooms. He pees, ignores a guy trying to coax him into one of the stalls, then washes his hands and splashes water on his face. He peers into his own reflection, sighing. When Phil gets here, he tells himself, he will apologise for his stupid reaction earlier. He will tell Phil his concerns about their future, and together they will work out how to deal with it.

That’s what a sensible, mentally healthy person would do. That’s what Amanda thinks he should do. And she’s, irritatingly, always right. 

He leaves the bathroom; he’s already spent ages in there, Phil’s probably halfway here by now, provided Amanda got through to him. He’s just squeezing back through the crowd towards the booth where he left her, when a hand clamps itself around his upper arm, painfully.

“Ow,” Dan cries out, turning. It’s the Djarums chap again, and Dan would roll his eyes, but this time, the git looks livid. He tries to pull away, but the idiot’s not having it.

“Listen up, Princess,” he hisses, leaning close; Dan can smell the beer on his breath. “I bought these Djarums specially for you. Now, how I see it, I’m out twenty quid, and you fuckin’ owe me.”

The guy shoves the pack of Djarums into Dan’s jacket pocket, then exposes his yellow, crumbling teeth in what Dan assumes is a grin.

“I’m not for sale, you creep,” Dan snarls, again attempting to pull away. “I don’t want your fags. Go give them to your  _wife_.”

“Not for sale? That’s not how I remember it,” the guy says, then yanks Dan forwards, sloppily, trying to duck in for a kiss. Luckily, Dan, being the completely sober one for once, swerves away just in time. “Come on you little brat,” the guys growls, tugging him through the crowd, towards the back rooms.

A blur of burgundy red swoops in, barreling straight into the spot where the gross dude’s hand clamps onto Dan’s arm, breaking them apart. It’s Phil, Dan notices in the next second, just in time as always. Dan could kiss him; in fact, he will, later.

“Get the fuck off him,” Phil snarls at the Djarums guy, fist raised in what Dan must admit is a vaguely menacing stance. Phil’s only ever hit one person, but he seems to be all too ready to do it again. “Or I’ll call the bouncers over.”

“Or we could call his wife,” Dan suggests, holding up the mobile phone he snagged from the Djarums dude’s trouser pocket.

“Oh, you little shit-”

The guy lunges for him, but Phil’s arm launches out, holding him back. “Back off, or he’ll call her right now,” Phil threatens.

The guy looks about to explode, but he nods, red-faced. Dan hands the phone back, and he stomps off. Dan is grinning, because that was fucking  _epic_ , but he turns to Phil, and finds a look of hurt on his face.

Dan’s smile slips away, fast. “Phil, what’s wrong? I’m sorry about earlier, about not texting you back, I-”

“Did you get with him?”

Dan balks. “Get with- no. No, Phil I would never-”

Phil presses his lips together. “How can I believe you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” Dan says, taking Phil by the shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a twat all day, but Amanda was here, and she’s knocked some sense into me. Can we go and talk?”

Phil heaves a sigh, looking like he very much wants to refuse, to be far away from Dan right now, but he nods, ever the Saint, and Dan is so, ridiculously grateful.

“Okay,” Dan says quickly, before Phil changes his mind. “Let me just go and find Amanda, tell her we’re going. Will you meet me outside? I’ll be two minutes.”

Phil agrees, albeit reluctantly, and Dan plunges into the crowd again, searching for thick brown curls and a small, dainty figure.

*

“Find her?”

Dan is barely out of Ozone before Phil’s question hits him. He turns to the left to find him leant on the wall outside, hands in his burgundy jacket pockets. Dan walks up to him, relieved that he hasn’t simply left.

“She was sitting with about five other guys and a hot girl,” Dan says. “I’m pretty sure they were all hitting on her. She’s fine.”

Phil nods. “It was good of her to come here. It’s not exactly her scene.” 

Dan snorts with laughter. “I think she’ll hose herself down when she gets home.” 

“She’s a good friend,” Phil says, clearly testing the waters. It’s uncomfortable to hear him say it, obviously, but it’s not unbearable, and that’s a start. 

“Mm,” Dan manages, which he’s enormously proud of himself for. 

They wordlessly begin walking back in the direction of their side of town. Dan wants to explain everything, but he can’t work out where to begin.

“I don’t wanna pressure you, Dan,” Phil says eventually, the words almost lost in the enormous sigh he heaves. “If you’re sure you don’t think the Orchestra thing is for you, that’s fine. I guess I just know how amazing you are, and I’d like you, and everyone else, to know it too.”

“Thanks,” Dan whispers. “It’s really nice that you think I’m…” he can’t think of the word. “Good enough, I guess.”

Phil sighs again, and Dan gets a familiar feeling that he’s stupidly not seeing something right in front of his nose. “Dan, I don’t just  _think_  it. Anyone who hears you play, who hears you talk even, can see that you’re wasted in a crappy café in a dead-end town.”

“Don’t,” Dan begs. He suddenly, blissfully, remembers that the moron in Ozone had shoved those Djarums into his pocket. Dan digs the pack out, thanking every deity he can think of. “I know you mean well, but I can’t bear it. The way you talk about me…”

Dan rips the pack open and pulls out a cigarette. In his haste to light it, he drops his lighter to the floor. Phil gets to it first, and flicks the flame into existence. He holds it to the end of Dan’s cigarette; in the light of the small flame, Dan can see the sadness in his eyes.

“I can’t think you’re amazing?”

Phil hands the lighter back to Dan, watching him take a long drag, then blow out the smoke through his nose.

Dan sucks the end of the cigarette before speaking again. “I’m not the person you think I am,” he says eventually. Even he cringes at the phrasing; he sounds like a martyred anti-hero in some terrible action movie. Phil snorts, confirming Dan’s fears. “I just mean… I can’t live up to the Dan in your head. I’m not some gifted flower, wilting behind my insecurity. If I let myself think I can have… y’know, a better life, where I don’t have to work shitty customer service jobs and live with my abusive family, then I’ll hope for it, and I can’t,  _I can’t_  deal with the disappointment I’d feel when I didn’t get it.” Dan shakes his head, eyes stinging from the smoke in his eyes, or maybe something else. “It’s not worth it.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Phil says, though he sounds like he doesn’t want to. It’s brave to speak the words aloud, Dan can see it. He must know that disagreeing with Dan now will only lead to an argument. As Dan knows from that overheard conversation he had with his mum, Phil is worried Dan’s gonna run off at the first sign of trouble. If that’s still true, inciting any argument is courageous of him. “I think it’s always worth a shot. Your dreams matter, Dan.”

Dan laughs, smoke billowing up into the dark sky. “Don’t you know this, Phil? I already got my dream.”

*

Eventually, Phil decides to drop the matter entirely, mostly because he can’t speak with Dan’s tongue in his mouth. He should remember, in future disagreements, that Dan’s got an arsenal of weaponry, primed for distraction, hidden beneath his clothes, and he is apparently not above using them. They’re laying on Phil’s bed, Dan half on top of Phil, trying to be quiet because Phil’s mum is downstairs.

Phil’s hands are inside of Dan’s t-shirt, and are mapping the skin of his chest and back thoroughly. Dan’s kissing is getting dangerously heated, but Phil cannot bring himself to tell him to stop. 

“Phil,” his mum calls from downstairs. 

Dan moves his mouth to Phil’s throat for a second, so he can shout back. “Yeah?”

“Do you and Dan want some dinner?”

Phil pushes Dan back a little to give him a questioning look. “Do you?”

Dan shrugs. “Sure.”

“Yes please! Coming!”

Dan grins. “Not yet.”

“Ew, please do not say anything sexual in the context of anything to do with my mum,” Phil says, rolling Dan off him. Dan laughs and stretches, exposing skin at his middle, which Phil is basically forced to lean down and kiss. The feel of Phil’s lips is apparently tickly, because Dan shrieks. “Oh? Are you ticklish, Howell?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dan says, jumping into a defensive crouch atop the bed. 

He looks like a wildcat, poised to spring. And, well, it’s too tempting to resist. He gets a few kicks to the face, stomach, and shins, but it’s worth it to send the perpetually bitch-faced Dan Howell into peels of uncontrollable laughter for a few minutes.

Phil’s mum eyes them both when they get downstairs, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink that Phil has never witnessed before. He’s confused for a moment, then looks Dan up and down, and realises that he too must look just as breathless, red and ruffled, right after exiting the bedroom.

“We were just-”

“How about you come sit up, and we shan’t mention it, Philip,” his mum says, very steadfastly averting her eyes. Dan is trying not to laugh, so Phil elbows him in the side. “There’s plenty to eat, so don’t be shy.”

Resigning himself to letting his mother believe he and Dan have been up to no good, Phil takes a seat at the table, and Dan follows him. His mum hands out plates, and they pile on mashed potatoes, veggie sausages, and various steamed vegetables.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Lester,” Dan says. “It looks delicious, as usual.”

She sends him a sweet smile. “You’re always welcome, Dan love.”

Phil sends him a look that is supposed to say something along the lines of  _‘how come you aren’t in trouble for supposedly fucking me in my room two minutes before dinner?’_ , but probably comes out as something unreadable, because Dan just stares back blankly.

“So, boys, what’s new?”

Phil opens his mouth, about to tell his mum about the petty dramas of the school day - he’d gotten a B on his English essay, Mr Richardson’s shirt was on inside out, Amanda had tripped someone up in the hall for muttering that she was a ‘last season harpie’, but Dan gets there first.

“My music teacher thinks I should audition for the British Young Person’s National Orchestra,” he blurts.

The words jumble together a little, spilling from his mouth so fast that Phil is sure Dan didn’t think them through. He stares at his boyfriend, flabbergasted. He thought the matter had been officially dropped. Dan shoves mashed potato into his mouth, as if he wants to stopper it up.

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful!” Phil’s mum exclaims, placing her fork down. “Phil, isn’t that fantastic news?”

“Um… uh…” Phil stammers; he’s at a total loss over what to say. Dan had basically told him to shut the hell up about the subject, but here he is bringing it up of his own accord, to Phil’s mother. “Y-yes, he knows I think it’s… amazing.”

Dan winces at the word. still chewing mashed potato. He swallows it down with obvious effort, and shoots Kath a smile. “Thanks. I don’t actually know if I’ll do it.”

“Oh, well there’s no harm in trying, honey,” Kath says, taking a sip of wine from her glass. “Why, your music teacher seems to think you have as good a chance as anyone else! And he or she would know, I’d think.”

Dan, for some reason, seems to be listening to her. He’s staring at his plate, but he’s chewing his fingernail, deliberating. “Yeah,” he says, and Phil is about ready to pinch himself to check he’s not dreaming.

“I don’t have a musical bone in my body love,” Kath says. “But I hear you playing Phil’s old piano from time to time, and my goodness, I could listen forever. It’s just beautiful!”

Dan’s head lifts. “I didn’t know you could hear that.”

“I think even the neighbours can hear, love, the walls aren’t exactly soundproof,” Kath says with a chuckle. “But I’ve heard no complaints, and I highly doubt there’ll ever be any.”

Dan pushes his peas around thoughtfully, and the conversation moves onto other things.

*

“I brought you a coffee,” Phil says at around eleven at night, nudging the door to his bedroom open with his hip.

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Try’na keep me up?”

“Maybe,” Phil says with a smirk, handing Dan his mug. He sits down on the bed, sipping his own delicious coffee and leaning back against the pillows. “Do you wanna have a chat?”

Dan’s been sitting at Phil’s piano for around an hour, trying to work up the courage to play something now that he knows Mrs Lester listens. She’s gone to bed now, but she’s probably still awake, so the pressure mounts.

Sighing, Dan turns to face him. He knew this was coming; dinner had brought up some unexpected ‘word vomit’ on Dan’s behalf. “I know I’m being nuts,” Dan says. “Veering from one decision to the other. I dunno, I thought I’d made up my mind about the Orchestra thing. But I think... maybe... possibly I’m just a stubborn dickhead. Everyone seems to share your point of view, even my own mother, which is just... mental. Maybe I’m just being a coward, too scared to even try in case I fail. Maybe you’re more persuasive than I let myself believe.”

Phil doesn’t bother to hide his ridiculously pleased grin. “Really?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it,” Dan warns, very cautious of Phil getting his hopes up for anything Dan-related. It’s best that he stay very pessimistic about Dan’s willingness to do anything he doesn’t have to. It’s been hard enough trying to give up smoking, and that’s not exactly working out great; he’s had three cigarettes today. “I think talking to your mum helped me realise. She’s kind of like… a voice of reason in my head.”

Phil hums a noise of assent, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. “She’d love to hear that. Think she wishes you were her third son, sometimes.”

Dan nearly chokes on his own sip. He’d rather not have the added pressure of Mrs Lester wanting him as a son-in-law just yet. “Maybe I’ll have another talk with Ms Chilton,” Dan says carefully. He shoots Phil a ‘ _don’t get excited_ ’ look, and Phil struggles - and fails, spectacularly - to hide his sheer delight at this news. Dan rolls his eyes. “You can’t put all your faith in me, though. I’ve never won anything, ever.”

“Um, incorrect,” Phil says, eyes shining. He pats the space beside him on the bed, and Dan, besotted little puppy that he is, stands and goes to sit with him. “You won my heart.”

“Ugh, you sap,” Dan mutters as he sinks onto the bed at Phil’s side. “Why do I hang out with you?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?”

Dan snorts, drinking more coffee. “Hey, did you make me coffee to keep me up for a DMC, or because you wanna seduce me after your mum’s asleep?”

Phil sends him a horrified, innocent look. “Dan, are you accusing me of using  _nefarious means_  to ensure you don’t zonk out before I can shove my hand down your pants?”

This time, Dan doesn’t need to be tickled to descend into laughter. Phil takes the mug from his hands, and places it, along with his own, on his bedside table, then dives on top of him. 

“Ugh, get off me, you weigh a tonne,” Dan groans, though he doesn’t even try to wriggle away. 

Phil’s body is warm, and heavy, like those weighted blankets he’s read about on Buzzfeed. His eyes sparkle in the light of his bedside lamp.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil says, smiling widely. He leans in and sniffs Dan’s hair, which is super weird, but somehow totally expected, at this point.

“Sorry,” Dan says, hands resting on Phil’s back. “I know I said I was cutting back. It’s been a stressful day.”

“You know, you don’t need to change anything about yourself for me,” Phil tells him, pinching Dan’s t-shirt between his thumb and forefinger, then raising it to his nose to sniff.

It’s a sweet thing to say, but he surely cannot mean it. “Er, I think you might prefer me if I weren’t such an asshole, or if I didn’t stink of smoke every time you got within five inches of me.”

Phil shakes his head, a big, dopey smile on his face. “Nah, I want you just like this. Bitch-faced, cherry-smelling, pretentious piano-genius.”

There’s a thousand retorts on Dan’s tongue, a hundred reasons why Phil is wrong, and should immediately reconsider his decision, but Dan gets to verbalise none of them. Phil’s kisses are electrifying, sending pulses of bright energy between his synapses, lighting his nerve endings on fire. Dan could be on the brink of death, he’s sure, and a single kiss from Phil would revive him, like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He’s the modern day Snow White, if she had more of a Mia Wallace attitude to life.

As their clothes become nuisances, and the dragging, clawing pull of their combined arousal begins to rip the garments from their bodies, Dan feels that familiar, heady, intoxicating swell of adoration welling up, like a sea, all around them. He pulls back from Phil’s mouth, dizzy, adrift in the waves of it, sure he can feel the bed bobbing up and down.

Phil looks down at him wonderingly, fondly. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Dan says, because it’s all he can think of to say that might have a hope of scratching the vast universe of emotion he feels for Phil in this moment. 

“Love you too, nerd,” Phil says, and Dan plummets, happily, freely, into the roiling ocean beneath him.


End file.
